


I have given you the blood and the truth from the wounds that they laid on me

by janie_tangerine



Series: some flowers bloom dead [12]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (sort of read the warnings for better explanations), Alternate Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Consent Issues, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eventual Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Poor Theon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Robb Stark is a Gift, Sexual Content, THIS FIC WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, What-If, everything you might expect if you read the Theon chapters in adwd, is2g this is all aimed towards good things, major ADWD and ASOS spoilers, this never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: where Robb turns seventeen and Theon has to deal with physical needs of more than one kind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ... HELLO GUYS. YOU PROBABLY THOUGHT I ABANDONED THIS. newsflash: I didn't. I said I was gonna finish before WoW came out and is2g I will. xD anyway I had REASONS to stall mostly that I couldn't figure out this fucking chapter. Aaand hey took me two years but I did. Welcome back, hopefully I'll manage to update this at a decent rate. (By the way, I used nanowrimo to go ahead, so the next part is actually written but I need to edit it, so expect it either later this month or early January when I have yuletide and the likes behind me. Sorry about the sorta cliffhanger at the end but as stated you won't have to wait too long for a solution.)
> 
> Now, before you start reading unless you don't want spoilers and you can deduce from the tags, **warnings** : 90% of the reason it took me so long to write this thing was that if I wanted these two to have some healthy semblance of a *full* relationship at the end, I needed to deal with a whole load of sex-related issues *now*, so basically half of this is Theon working out through said issues and the other half is Robb seeing the result. I said it in the warnings already but the way Theon goes at it is absolutely *not* healthy (see the consent issues warning just to be extra safe) and the eventual sexual content *is* consensual but is fairly dysfunctional *and* there's a fair amount of ugly stuff discussed (or thought about) in this thing so like, thread cautiously. If I said chapter five was a minefield of ramsay-related triggers this is basically the same just worse, so you know what to expect.
> 
> That stated: don't worry I want to make them happy I just need to get over the realistic issues they'd have first. _Also_ it's the middle ages and it's two guys with former communication issues trying to communicate so don't expect either of them to react like people would in this day and age. There, that's it, now we can move on.
> 
> Other less heavy A/N: I worked this based on the most accurate timeline you can find online that places Robb's birthday at the equivalent of our September 13th and that places him storming Jeyne's castle around that date, so unless they're colossally wrong I haven't headcanoned anything. And if anyone's interested, the sort-of-feet-prosthetics Theon gets in this was actually based off [ancient Egyptian toe prosthetics](http://www.seeker.com/ancient-egyptian-fake-toes-earliest-prosthetics-1765999240.html). Hey, if they could get there in Ancient Egypt surely they can in Westeros, right?
> 
> Finally: nothing belongs to me except the plot, the title is from the Gaslight Anthem as usual and I need to endlessly and publicly thank a) the anon on tumblr who this fair summer gave me the birthday idea and unstuck me from the plotting hellhole with this fic, b) tumblr user francisperfectionbonnefoy for looking it over because I was REALLY fretting with this. thank you both <3 and now I'm really gonna leave you alone and post this. *saunters vaguely downwards*

It’s not even sunrise yet when Theon opens his eyes. It’s the morning of the day when the last trials concerning what Freys still remain alive in the castle should be held. For a moment he feels relieved that he didn’t have nerve-wracking nightmares for the first time in months while sleeping on his own – he had told Robb that he should just go and spend some time with his sister since it’s where he should be right now. And whether Robb stayed with Arya or went to sleep with his wife, well, it’s not like either shouldn’t be his first priority.

Still, his relief doesn’t last for long. He only recalls his dream vaguely – he’s sure it involved Robb, not that anyone would be surprised let alone Theon himself – but as far as he can remember, it was nice. He was sure the two of them were in Winterfell way back in the day, except Robb looked the way he does now while Theon himself looked like he did before he sailed to the Iron Islands, and – they weren’t really doing much. He thinks at some point they were sitting under one of the heart trees in the weirwood. Maybe they kissed a bit. But it was nothing more than that, he’s sure. So – yes, it was pretty pleasant.

And the moment he thinks that, he’s not relieved anymore, because he’s feeling _strange_ , and –

He looks down at his groin and _that_ ’s when he finally puts two and two together, and that’s also when he realizes that he can’t remember at all the last time he woke up in the morning with a hard-on. Even if as far as he recalls it was something that happened fucking daily, at least up until he had that forsaken idea of taking Winterfell for himself, and –

Shit. _Shit_. Reason tells him that he should just do what he’s been doing about it since he was ten and two or so, use his hand, bring himself off and be done with it, but – but he had thought that after what Ramsay did down there – after _what Ramsay said_ –

He’s out of the bed and throwing up in his thankfully empty chamber pot in a moment, and by the time he’s dry heaving over it, well, it’s hardly a problem anymore.

Something tells him that he’s not going to get any sleep if he tries again, so he just washes his face and hands thrice in the water basin in the corner of the room, and when he’s done the sky is barely pink. He sits down on the bed, looking down at his hands and trying to not think about it, except that somehow it’s the only thing he can think about and he really _shouldn’t_. 

He puts on some clothes, stands up and gets out of the room; walking hurts but it’s better than sitting there and thinking about anything related to the state of his dick at all.

Never mind that he used to have dreams a lot less tame than that back in the day, so if the one he just had was enough to cause that kind of reaction –

He needs to stop thinking about it for real. He leaves the room and heads for the kitchens – he might as well try to eat. Not that he wants to – his stomach feels entirely too upset for eating – but he made a vow to himself that he would and both Robb and Lord Davos _did_ have a point when they remarked that he’s never going to get any better if he doesn’t eat regularly. Thankfully no one comments on his appearance downstairs this early in the morning – he eats his porridge while standing up in a corner of the room and then, then he doesn’t know what in the seven hells he should do. It seems like the only people awake at this time are him and the servants and he doubts he could even volunteer to help out in the kitchen if he so wished, given the state of his hands and feet he’d be in their way more than anything else.

He heads out of the castle figuring that some fresh air in the gardens will not hurt. He wraps his furs tighter around his shoulders and heads for the weirwood. He follows a path leading to a small clearing and when he sees that Arya is there already, looking down at her sword as she sits on a tree bark, he almost immediately tries to turn his back on her and leave – he’s not sure she wants him around and she has every right not to, except that his foot lands on a dry leaf and it makes enough noise in the silence of the morning that she notices at once and turns to look at him.

Well, damn.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I was just leaving.”

She stares at him for a moment as if she’s pondering some kind of hard decision, and he takes a step back, but then she shrugs.

“You don’t have to,” she finally says.

 _What_.

“Oh. All right. I was – I will go on then.”

“I just said you don’t have to _leave_ if you want to sit down or something. It’s big enough for two.”

A part of him says he should just high tail out of here, but a bigger one tells him that he should just sit down, since his feet are already hurting everywhere – he should have walked here slower. He sits down on another tree bark, far enough from hers that she doesn’t have to look at him if she chooses not to. He breathes in deeply, once, twice, trying to not fall back into thinking about this morning because _he cannot afford to_ –

“Are you going to throw up?”

He almost jerks up on his feet, but instead he swallows and looks at Arya, who has turned a bit and is staring at him with the face of someone who doesn’t know if she should feel sorry for him or gloat at his obvious misery.

“No,” he answers. “I already did.”

 _What_. Why did he even say it? Her eyes narrow, she opens her mouth as if she wants to ask him why, then obviously thinks better of it and doesn’t. There’s another moment or so of heavy silence, and then.

“If you feel like shit while are you even out? It’s cold.”

The disturbing thing is that she doesn’t sound either concerned or reproachful or even condescending. She sounds like someone who honestly doesn’t get why he would do something this dumb and at the same time like she can’t care less if he dies frozen out in the open.

Considering that she’s barely two and ten if he isn’t remembering dates completely wrong, it’s moderately worrying. Then again, she’s two and ten and has probably seen stuff no one her age should see, so what does he know – whatever is wrong with her, at least she seems to be dealing with it in a somehow more proficient way than he is.

“There was nothing to do inside,” he answers lamely. “But I’ll go back soon.”

“For the trials?”

So Robb did tell her yesterday.

“Considering that I was at all the others, I might as well see through the end of it.” Never mind that seeing die the person who tried to kill Robb in front of him won’t change anything, but he’ll feel better knowing that they aren’t around to try it again or bribe someone to try it again or else.

“I wanted to go,” she says, still in that frankly upsetting tone. “Robb said I shouldn’t.”

 _And he was right_ , Theon doesn’t answer.

“I doubt it’s going to be much of anything. There’s not even the need to go through the trial, everyone saw Ryman trying to kill him, and it was pretty much confirmed that the others were behind the wedding. Then it’s just going to be cutting heads. I fail to see what’s entertaining in it.”

 _I also entirely understand why Robb doesn’t want you to see any more dead people_. Arya doesn’t answer, merely huffs and turns her back on him.

Well, she hasn’t stood up and tried to kill him yet so he supposes he can’t complain. He stays where he is for another moment, then he sighs, stands up and heads for the way back - it’s morning by now. At worst he’ll just find himself a seat so he doesn’t have to watch the trial while standing up.

“Well, uh, I’ll go. If I see Robb should I tell you you’re here?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll be back soon enough. And by the way, you really look like you’re going to throw up.”

 _Great_. If even someone who visibly doesn’t want anything to do with him can point that out, it means he really needs to try and find an excuse for it, not that it’s going to be that hard. He has a lot viable excuses. He just wishes that it wasn’t because of the only dream he’s had in the last year or so that wasn’t absolutely ugly, but at this point he figures that it’s just on par with the way things go for him, isn’t it?

\--

At least, this trial doesn’t have to involve him in any shape or form. Which is good because the last thing he needs is taking off his clothes in front of everyone again. Also, at least this time there’s not much to see or do – considering who is on the spot (Ryman and Lothar Frey) the only thing Robb has to do is tell them that they’re to go directly to the yard.

Theon watches Robb cut off their heads, not failing to notice how uncomfortable he looks before, throughout and after each beheading – after the last, his clothes are covered in blood and he looks like someone who could go to sleep for two months straight. And it’s not even mid-morning. He keeps to himself, standing in the back, not failing to notice that most people glare at him without any kind of sympathy whenever they look his way. Fine – let them look. At least they can’t do more than that for now.

Robb says to just burn the damned bodies along with all the others before turning his back on them and heading back inside the castle – Theon would follow, but there are too many people around and he doesn’t want anyone to try and guess where he’s going, so he heads in the opposite direction figuring that if he kills enough time he can head back upstairs later and no one will be the wiser for it.

Except that going the opposite way means that he walks for a fair bit until his feet ache so much he can’t go on further, and of course he stopped near the practice yard. Which is still full of kids holding their bows wrong, and for a moment he feels a spike of jealousy so strong that he’s almost dizzy with it. It’s just so unfair, he thinks as he watches them fumble around the yard with just one maester at arms looking after some fifteen of them, that they have all the means to do what he used to so effortlessly and now _he_ can’t, which doesn’t help any when he feels like he’s dead weight.

He’s still wishing he could be in the place of any of them when he realizes that maybe – just maybe – he doesn’t need to _wish_ for that.

Fine, maybe he doesn’t have two fingers anymore, but it’s not a given that it might be the reason he can’t hold a bow anymore. He thinks about it carefully - if he uses his right to nock, how hard can it be to fire even with just three? It would take a lot of exercise, sure, and the gods know he would need it, considering how long it’s been since he held any kind of weapon in his hands, but as long as he puts enough effort into it he might pull it off. If he starts soon – well, if he finds the guts to ask Robb to arrange for it – and he keeps at it he might even manage to get a hang of that before they have to leave for King’s Landing, and then he might tag along without feeling like he’s saddling Robb with more dead weight he doesn’t need. For a moment it seems too nice of a prospect not to have a catch somewhere, but then he realizes that he should gain back at least half of the muscle he lost unless he resorts to using bows made for children, and even then it still would take effort.

Never mind that before putting on muscle he should put on weight, and he actually lost some in between the trip to and from Pyke, damn it, and he surely is not going to put it back on in a month. Or less, because if Stannis is here within the next two weeks, he might want to leave before one month is passed.

Well, this is shaping to be a fairly terrible day, isn’t it? He certainly can’t go looking for a maester to ask how he could solve the problem now, can he.

For a moment he’s almost tempted to go over to the kids and tell them how they’re doing it wrong, then he shakes his head – sure, as if anyone would want his input. Too bad, because he’d have something to do at least, so he could avoid thinking about _everything else_ , and – no, he’s not going to think about what happened this morning. He shrugs and moves on when the master at arms looks at him as if he’d really like to know what he’s staring at and moves further. At this rate he’ll end up in the woods again and he’ll run into Arya once more and it’s probably not a good idea either now, is it?

For having been such a nice night sure as the seven hells he’s paying for it with interests the Iron Bank would dream of.

Gods, _what_ did he even used to do in his spare time back in the day when he wasn’t practicing or taking lessons or spending time with Robb? In Winterfell he could go to the village’s tavern for a drink before heading for the brothel if he so wished, but he certainly can’t go in the nearest tavern _now_ – he’d need a horse, and to cross the river (one of the rivers, anyway) and how would he even come back? Considering how easily he gets tired these days, that’s about the least likely option. He certainly never set foot in the sept and he’s not going to start now. He should probably just go back upstairs, but being alone in his room doesn’t look like a tempting option.

It’s not even midday, seven hells, and for the first time in months he can’t help thinking that while taverns aren’t an option, he could do with a drink. A strong one. Point is, he doesn’t even know where he should go search for any – probably the kitchens, but he already feels uneasy dining there in the first place.

Then he notices Sandor Clegane coming from the stables. Maybe he went to check on his horse. He glances at the practice yard and leans back against a tree, looking fairly amused at the kids’ attempts at sword fighting.

And that’s when Theon remembers that when that blasted royal court came to Winterfell, the man was never seen without a wine skin.

He swallows and walks towards him – at worst, he’ll say no. He’s hardly going to give a shit about his past misdeeds.

Then he also remembers that he didn’t seem too happy at the prospect of being called _ser_ back when he talked to Robb, which means that Theon has no clue of how to address him, but –

Fuck it, he really wants that drink more than anything else.

“Can I ask you a favor?” He just asks bluntly. Clegane looks down at him, raises an eyebrow, nods in what looks like recognition.

“No one forbids you to _ask_.”

“Do you still happen to carry a wine skin with you?”

Clegane raises the other eyebrow - he almost looks amused.

“Might be that I do. Why’s that?”

“I don’t know where else I could find some without questions asked,” Theon replies, forcing himself to look straight at the man. Gods, those burn scars _really_ must have hurt. He can feel the newly growing skin on his back hurt back in sympathy.

“Well,” Clegane says after a moment, “considering how I remember you looking back when I set foot into fucking Winterfell the first time, wouldn’t be a surprise that you’d want wine.” He shrugs, then reaches down for his pocket and slams a half-empty wine skin into his hand. “You can keep it.”

“ _What_ – uh, I don’t need –” Theon starts, and Clegane shakes his head.

“Considering what I was appointed to do by our common liege lord, I gather it would be best if I didn’t indulge in that vice too much. Keep it. It’s not like it’s the only one I brought with me. I can find a refill if I want it.”

“Uhm. Well. I am – thank you.”

“’Twas nothing. Have fun,” Clegane says, and then he turns his back on him and heads for the castle. Right. He should probably get acquainted with his new duties. He also looked entirely less sour than he did in Winterfell.

Theon isn’t sure he even wants to know the reasons. He turns his back to the practice yard and – right. He will have to go back upstairs – there’s no way he’s attempting to get drunk enough to pass out on the outside. After dragging himself back up to his room he sits down on the bed, cursing his aching feet, opens up the wine skin and takes a long drink and he ends up swallowing half of it and spitting out the other half – maybe he did go too fast. And – yes, it’s fairly cheap wine and it burned down his throat in ways that were everything but pleasant, but it’s exactly the reaction it had the first time he tried to drink that much wine at once and it’s halfway comforting. At least _something_ hasn’t changed. And there’s some left still – for a moment he considers saving it, then he decides that there’s no point in waiting and takes another couple of slower sips. By the time the skin is empty, he actually feels – not so bad. He’s not _drunk_ , he wishes he were, but he feels warm all over, his head isn’t pounding even if he doesn’t think he could stand on his feet if he tried and – maybe he could just try to sleep some more. It surely cannot hurt, right? He kicks off his shoes, still cursing his missing toes, and then he lays down on the bed hoping that he can just ignore that this day has existed until now.

As things are, he only partially gets what he wants.

It’s _definitely_ past midday when his eyes flutter open hours later, his hands grasping at the blanket, his heart racing way too fast for his liking, his breeches feeling slightly tight and a pounding headache. 

It’s not just that he had the exact same dream as the night before. It’s that it went… farther than that. Right, maybe not that much, after all he woke up not long after he and Robb had started fooling around. The way they used to back in the day. And - it was really nothing of note. Robb’s hands had gone on his belt, he had felt Robb’s erection through his breeches, they might have groped each other a bit, nothing serious, and then Robb had kissed him while his fingers worked the belt open and _then_ he had just opened his eyes and _now_ he’s shaking all over and he’s hard again and his head is definitely feeling all that wine.

He breathes in once, twice, telling himself that it’s normal, it’s normal, obviously it means that he’s nowhere near as damaged as he thought he was at least in _that_ sense, but it doesn’t work – he’s still shaking like a leaf, he’s not even sure that he can breathe right, and if he thinks about maybe trying to take care of the problem himself –

He’s on his knees and throwing in the chamber pot, again, and now it also smells of wine, obviously. He breathes in and out for a while - it starts shaky, but then he does manage to get it back under control. Good. Fine. He stands up, washes his face in the pitcher of water that the maid always keeps filled even if he never asked for it straight, then washes it again, changes into clothes that don’t smell of wine or vomit and drops sitting on the bed again. Great. It’s barely early afternoon and he already feels like complete shit, never mind that this morning he was considering taking up archery again.

Yeah, sure, as if it looks anywhere near likely right now.

Never mind that if he’s feeling exhausted because he had a fucking dream about fooling around with Robb which was honestly… tame, all things considered, he doesn’t want to know what might happen if it somehow happens again. He certainly can’t afford to react like this on a – on any basis. He’s of no use to anyone if it happens, least of all himself, but then again he obviously isn’t in control of that now, is he?

He puts on his shoes, stands up and slams the door on his way out – he’ll go to the kitchen and drink some water hoping that it’s enough to just make his head stop pounding, and then he doesn’t know what he’s going to do but he needs a distraction and he needs it quickly. If it makes him feel like he’s not being completely dead weight even better, but anything as long as he doesn’t have to think about what’s just happened.

(Or as long as he doesn’t have to think about how much he wishes he had seen Ramsay die if only to have some peace of mind in that sense.)

And as soon as he turns the corner he almost runs into Jeyne, and he manages to stop just at the last second.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes. “I – I hadn’t seen you coming.”

“It’s all right,” she says. “No harm done. And are you all right?”

Damn. If _she_ also noticed…

“I had a rough night,” he doesn’t technically lie. “But it’s nothing new. I, uh, will get over it. Sorry to keep you.”

“No need to apologize,” she answers. “Truth to be told – it was a welcomed… keeping.”

“What?”

She shrugs, and he notices that she doesn’t have her baby with him.

“I’m technically supposed to talk to Lady Roslin,” she says a moment later, shrugging ever so slightly.

“Wait, _you_?”

“Robb is in a council. I mean, everyone is. But we did speak before and he said he felt bad for not having talked to her once but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, and – well, I see his point. Except that then I asked around and it seems like she isn’t really – she’s only seen her husband and those three brothers of hers who didn’t take part in the wedding up until now. And I don’t know, but I think _someone_ else should do it. But I don’t have a clue of what I even should say. Also it’s probably better if I go there and not the contrary, so… I was heading to their quarters but I honestly don’t know what I’m going there for.”

“I don’t think anyone else would have even considered it,” Theon answers truthfully. “Never mind that she’ll probably be glad that you thought of it in the first place.”

“And how do you know that?”

Theon shrugs. “Before Robb decided that listening to his parents about _not getting attached_ to me wasn’t worth it – I think I had been in Winterfell for a month or more. I’d have rejoiced if anyone had just come and asked how I was doing.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and he can see that she at least understands it, and he moves to leave, but then -

“What if you come with me?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, I doubt anyone will be there to take offense for it.”

“I’m not quite sure her husband would agree with you.”

“Her husband is with Robb and that council will go on at least until dark since they have to discuss a great many things or so I’m told. I only understood that it concerned what letters Stannis sent, what to do with the Riverlands now, then they should see how many men they have and so on.”

He should insist, but… truthfully? The prospect of visiting Roslin Frey, who’s maybe the one person in this castle that people probably hate more than they hate him right now, isn’t half as bad as the prospect of being on his own and most probably being forced to deal with what’s going through his head right now.

“Very well, my lady, I’ll come if you think it’s proper.”

She half-smiles at him and then starts walking again. He follows and he really, really hopes this doesn’t end in a complete mess. Then again, anything is better than what he has been doing up to this point today, isn’t it?

\--

He reconsiders that line of thinking the moment they’re allowed in Lady Roslin’s chambers. Having been around Winterfell for three of Lady Stark’s pregnancies, Theon remembers quite well that she used to look happy most of the time, and there was a certain almost glow to her when she was with child, but it’s definitely not what’s going on with the girl in front of him. She’s pale, she’s thinner than she should be, she has a hand on the swell of her stomach almost as if she’s afraid someone might take it from her, and when she turns to look at them it’s obvious that she’s spent the previous night in tears. And that she’s been spending the last days in distress, if not months - from what Theon remembers, she’s younger than Robb but now she looks wearier and older the same way Robb does.

She also looks fairly surprised of their presence. Then again, Jeyne did say no one else bothered to visit at this point.

“Your Grace –” Lady Roslin starts, fumbling to move on her feet.

“Please don’t,” Jeyne interrupts her. “I – I remember how bothersome is it to stand when you’re with child. There’s no need.”

“Thank you,” Lady Roslin says, sitting back on the bed. Jeyne takes a seat and he’s tempted to do the same but… for now he’s been standing at the entrance and Lady Roslin hasn’t taken notice of him, and maybe he’d rather keep it this way for now. “To – to what do I owe this visit?”

“I – I merely wanted to see how you were doing.”

Lady Roslin glances at Jeyne as if – well, as if she had not expected it, but then again…

Gods, the only reason they all are in this room in these circumstances is that he had to be an idiot and fake Bran and Rickon’s death in order to save face when there was no point in it anymore. If he hadn’t Robb would have been married to Roslin, wouldn’t he, and maybe the Red Wedding would have never happened and she wouldn’t be carrying _Lord Edmure_ ’s baby but –

Shit. He might throw up again if he keeps on thinking about it.

“I could be doing worse. Your Grace.”

Theon can see Jeyne grimacing all the way over the place where he’s standing.

“That’s – good to know,” Jeyne replies, cautiously. She sounds at a loss for words, but then again what should she say? _I’m sorry that_ I _married Robb and peripherally ruined your life, except that the one reason he married me is standing right in this room_?

“I –” Jeyne starts, then shakes his head and looks down at her hands before looking back up at Lady Roslin. “I don’t really like this situation and I’m sure that in a bit things will be less hectic, but I wouldn’t – I can only imagine how you’re feeling right now, and there’s probably nothing I can do to, uh, make your stay less horrible, but –”

“I think I need to apologize,” Theon blurts out, interrupting her, but that speech was seriously sounding painful and from the way those two are looking at each other it was bound to end badly, so he might just – just say it, he figures. He owes it to the two of them, probably.

“Excuse me?” Lady Roslin says, finally noticing him as he moves closer, and she obviously doesn’t recognize him. Then again, she saw him once when they passed through the Twins a life ago. Why would she remember him?

“Your Grace. My lady. I – I’m Theon Greyjoy, if you had not recognized me already. Which would only be too understandable, given what transpired since I was last in your castle.”

Lady Roslin’s eyes go wide in recognition at once and he doesn’t let her speak - if he does he’s never going to finish this speech and he might as well get it out of his system.

“I’m – I’m perfectly aware that you might not find yourself in this predicament if I hadn’t taken some very stupid decisions, to say the least. Neither of you, probably. And I can see that you’re not feeling much comfortable with – well, not talking about it, so for what it’s worth, I’d like to apologize to the both of you for my actions, if I had known of their consequences I’d have thought on it more than twice. I know it’s not worth much but you don’t need to avoid the topic if you would rather speak of it – just do it. I can leave if –”

“Don’t,” Jeyne stops him. “I mean. Not on my account.”

Lady Roslin takes another good look at him, then shakes her head. “Not on mine either. You – you should sit.”

He swallows and takes a seat, not quite moving close to the two women just in case -

Just in case.

Jeyne breathes in and starts talking again. “The apology was accepted already, as far as I’m concerned anyway, but – you had a right to it. We all know why we’re here. Things went the way they did and I – I honestly wish that after this is over everyone might move on. I know it sounds hypocritical on my part, but –”

“Your Grace,” Lady Roslin interrupts, “you are – I can see that you are admirably trying to spare my feelings, but I have had time to think about what happened at _my_ own wedding. And – I wish I could be angry, at times, but then I wonder, if my father was willing to break guest right for a _slight_ , then who says he wouldn’t have done the same if Lord Tywin had paid him enough?” She looks down at her hands, still protectively clutching her swollen belly. “I cannot know either way, of course. And if it had happened then it would have regardless of what _you_ did in Winterfell, or of whether the king hadn’t… slighted my father. I don’t – of course I wish things had been different. But I cannot know for sure. And I – I cannot fault His Grace for killing my brothers.” She stops for a moment. “I mean, I certainly do not relish losing most of them, but they participated in a treacherous scheme that ended in the death of his mother and a lot of his bannermen and all of the men in his army that came to the castle, what should I even expect? My own father would have done the same if it had happened to _him_ , of that I’m certain.”

Jeyne tentatively touches one of Lady Roslin’s hands. “I, uh, we had been told that during the wedding –”

“I was crying all the time? Yes. I didn’t want – I didn’t want that. They forced me, but what choice did I have? Now I just – if it please His Grace and yourself… I had not imagined that Lord Edmure would ever care for me, let alone… let alone in the way he does. And I wouldn’t have imagined to care for him either, not when our marriage started in such a circumstance. But somehow something good came out of it and the only thing I want to is keeping it.”

“Well, they have agreements in that sense, don’t they?” Jeyne asks, cautiously.

“They do, but I do not see many people approving that line of thinking.”

“I am sure they will come around. Robb’s – His Grace’s bannermen have barely come round to approve of _me_ ,” Jeyne says, shrugging. “I just wanted to say that if you ever want to discuss it I am amenable.”

“Thank you, I – I appreciate it,” Lady Roslin says, wiping at her eyes before a couple of tears can fall down. “And I should like it if – I understand you have a daughter.”

“I do,” Jeyne agrees.

“Well, hopefully I will have mine before the next moon turns. Maybe if they don’t grow up enemies it would not be such a bad thing, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course not,” Jeyne agrees at once, and that’s way better an outcome that Theon had feared, except –

Except –

What has she just said? Before the next moon turns? Shit, he barely even knows at _which_ moon they’re at truth to be told, the last few months have been so hectic he’s lost track of time and when he was with – with Ramsay, he surely didn’t care to keep it.

He lets them talk and doesn’t intrude in the conversation unless he’s asked and he’s polite when he and Jeyne leave, and Lady Roslin looks slightly less miserable.

Good thing that, at least.

He waits until they’re far enough from her room before he figures that he should just ask the question already.

“My lady, uh, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. But you shouldn’t ask me permission to speak.”

“Well, it’s – probably an odd one. But – what date is it?”

“Sorry?”

“What date is it. I’m afraid that I have quite lost track of it lately.”

Jeyne shrugs. “Well, if I’m not wrong… it’s the twenty-seventh day of the eight turn of the moon today. Three hundred years after Aegon’s landing, of course. Why?”

For a moment Theon feels like he could faint – is it this late already? Gods, _how fucking long_ did he spend in the Dreadfort’s dungeons? How long has it been since Robb found him?

Longer than he had imagined, he supposes. He shudders, and thanks Jeyne, hoping that he doesn’t look as sick as he feels, but then –

 _Then_ –

“My lady, wait a moment, you said, twenty-seventh of the _eight_ turn of the moon?”

“Yes. Why?”

Oh. _Oh_. Because –

“Because unless I remember wrong, Robb’s nameday is on the thirteenth day of the ninth turn of the moon, isn’t it?”

A moment later, she nods after doing some quick maths - yes, then he didn’t get dates wrong this time, didn’t he?

“It – it is,” she agrees, quietly.

“If it’s three hundred years after the landing… it’s seven and ten,” he says, not even asking for confirmation. He knows in which bloody year Robb was born. At least he hasn’t lost his mind when it comes to numbers.

“Wait –” Jeyne says before she literally blanches. For a moment he wonders what’s going on but then he remembers –

He remembers _when he sent the raven concerning the miller’s children_.

“Fuck,” he blurts out, “during his last one –”

“It was the day he conquered my castle,” she replies quietly.

 _And when he got the letter, and when he slept with her, seven hells_ what did I do _?_ , he asks himself. He feels like throwing up all over again. _And he never even mentioned it?_

“Seven hells,” Theon says after a long, long silence. “That’s – not how namedays in Winterfell used to go,” he says, feeling like he’s going to start laughing hysterically. Anything is better than the opposite feeling going through him right now, which would be to find Robb and ask him how did he find it in himself to forgive Theon at that point.

“How – how did they use to go then?” Jeyne asks, sounding like she’s about to cry. He can feel her.

He shrugs. “Well, when it came to him and his siblings, uh, in the morning whoever was getting older would get woken up by the others and they’d spend the morning doing what the – the persone whose nameday it was had decided. Then lunch would be larger and better than usual with more sweets and then bannermen and the likes would come in throughout the afternoon bringing presents if they had any. Then in the evening there would be another large dinner with dancing and the likes.”

“… Quite a difference from – from last year’s, then. But you said – when it came to _him_ and his siblings?”

“When it came to Jon Snow’s it wasn’t _that_ acknowledged. Well, Lord Stark would and his siblings also would, and Robb would drag me along, but he didn’t get fancy dinners hosted in his name. Not that he’d have wanted any, I think. When it came to me, whoever knew would give me well-wishes, Lord Stark would have some present which was obviously… well, out of duty, Robb had one that wasn’t and that was about it.”

“That’s…”

“Sad, but at home it wasn’t much better and I don’t think we should discuss – my latest. I think I missed it. I’m glad I missed it.” He shudders, and then -

Then he thinks, _maybe there’s some merit in trying to make up for it_.

“I was – I was thinking,” he starts.

“Do go ahead.”

“Maybe - maybe we should… try to… do something for this one? I mean, obviously nothing that huge and maybe just in the evening, but - I think he deserves a better nameday than last year’s. And – I mean, I don’t even know how his sister hasn’t tried to kill me yet but maybe if I ask her if she wants to help she’d come around or something. Or it might distract her. Or both. I don’t even know, but –”

Jeyne puts a hand on his arm.

“Theon?” She asks, stopping him mid-speech. “I think it’s a very good idea. And I think we should go to my rooms and discuss it while Robb’s not around to hear it.”

He nods and follows her in silence, and tries to silence the new, fresh wave of guilt threatening to swallow him whole.

He’s entirely not surprised when he sees Sandor Clegane standing outside the door - the man just nods at the both of them, his eyes lingering on Theon for a moment longer before he shrugs and lets them through. Theon has a feeling he’s going to be asked a few question about how did Clegane’s wine agree with his stomach later, but not for now or so it seems. Good. He doesn’t think he has it in him to have that conversation right now.

Jeyne locks the door, checks on her daughter - who’s blissfully sleeping in her crib, good for her - and then joins him as he sits in front of Robb’s desk. She sits in what’s usually Robb’s place and takes a brief look at the papers covering the surface, then looks back up at him.

“Very well,” she says, “we have… a bit over two weeks. I suppose we shouldn’t tell that many people, should we?”

Theon shrugs. “I don’t know how they’d take such a suggestion coming from us of all people in this moment. And I don’t know if he’d want a huge celebration. Probably not.”

“That’s a point. Perhaps – a small dinner, then?”

“I think it would be best. I suppose… we should tell the Blackfish. And Lord Edmure, though I don’t know if his wife would want to join. I have a feeling she wouldn’t.”

“I suppose we should just ask him and see what he thinks of it. I – I imagine Arya’s blacksmith friend might be told as well?”

“Given that I’d be surprised if you don’t end up related at some point soon, not a bad idea.”

“ _What_?”

Theon shrugs. “Let’s say Robb might have talked of… testing the waters when it comes to who would his sister like to _marry_. Given that he might be. You know. King Robert’s.”

“Well,” Jeyne says slowly, “then he should be told as well. Who else?”

Theon thinks about it a moment, then shrugs. “Lord Davos? I mean, if one of the bannermen around should come it’s him, I think.”

“I don’t see why not.” Jeyne says nothing for a moment, then shakes her head. “Gods, how bad is it that I can’t think of anyone else?”

 _A lot_ , Theon thinks and doesn’t say. “I guess Clegane will be there regardless. That – doesn’t make it much better, does it?”

“No,” Jeyne agrees, “but if the target here was organizing a nice dinner, we’re starting off very wrong. I mean. The circumstances are what they are but maybe we should try to be… less gloomy about it?”

“… Good point. So… dinner, I imagine. Maybe a bit early so if there’s something he wants to do we’d have time for it?”

“Sounds like a plan. As far as presents go I’m afraid there’s not much to be had around here but we’ll make do somehow.”

“He still hasn’t gotten around to change the handle on that sword of his,” Theon says. “Maybe if we tell Gendry Waters he could help out?”

“That – that actually doesn’t sound bad at all. It would definitely be something. Then – then we’ll see, I guess. I imagine we should ask them.”

“We should,” Theon agrees. “I can tell Lord Davos.”

“I will ask Lord Edmure then. I imagine you’d rather not. And I can ask the Blackfish as well, unless –”

“No,” Theon says, “I’ll ask Arya. I mean, if this is how it will go she’ll have to learn to tolerate me and I’ll have to talk to her without wanting to flung myself from a window, I might as well do it.”

Jeyne gives him a look, smiling slightly. “I think she’s not going to hate you for it anytime soon.”

“Very well. I – I might do it now at this point. Better have it out of the way as soon as possible, if we’re really doing it. I – I imagine you can talk to the kitchen staff for the food?”

“Of course, I will arrange it myself. If you have suggestions for what we should eat…”

“Well – he used to like blackberry cakes but lemon ones were more common. I don’t know if it’s even the right season for –”

“We’ll see. Thank you, I – I will let you know what Lord Edmure says then.”

“Good. We should probably meet in the morrow then.”

Jeyne nods and he leaves, figuring that he might as well get it over with. When he leaves, Clegane is still standing outside the door.

“Have you heard that conversation?” Theon asks.

“Some, but other than the two of you organizing some kind of bloody secret meeting, I don’t think I gathered its fucking purpose. Why?”

Theon clears his throat. “Uh, it’s Robb’s – His Grace’s nameday in a couple of weeks. We’re – trying to come up with something for it. You should come anyway since, well, you’re supposed to protect the queen, but – now you know.”

Clegane stares at him for a long moment, then he snorts, but not in contempt. “Look at where in the seven hells I ended up. If _namedays_ are what you’re worried about there’s some hope left for you. Fine. Duly noted.”

“Uh, thanks for the wine. From before, I mean.”

“No need to sweat it. If you want more you can ask, but lookin’ at you I’d say you need to eat more meat, not to get fucking drunk. Consider it.”

Theon doesn’t even know when his life turned into _Sandor Clegane giving him advice_ but it could be worse. A lot worse, he supposes. He nods at him and leaves, trying to ignore his feet – gods, he needs to find a maester, get over himself and ask him if there’s some way he can make the situation better or he’ll never walk properly again in his life and that’s not what he wants. For a moment he’s tempted to look for Lord Davos first, but no – that’d be the easy task. He should get the hard one out of the way first.

He heads straight for the forgery. If he imagines well, Arya should be there. If her friend is as well, at least he’s going to need to do this just once.

At least, he’s lucky. She’s there. Along with Gendry, who’s taking a look at a sword that most definitely belongs to her. It’s small and looks made for someone her size – where did she get it is an entire other question, but that’s not what he’s here to ask.

They don’t take notice of him, so he waits for a bit before he realizes that he has to make himself known. Damn it.

He clears his throat.

Gendry doesn’t have any particular reaction, Arya just looks at him suspiciously, but there’s nothing new about it.

“What do you want?” She asks.

He takes a deep breath. “Listen, this is – I was talking to J – to the queen,” he says. “And we realized that your brother’s nameday is some two weeks from now. I mean, if today’s the twenty-eight of the eight moon.”

Arya’s eyes go wide in surprise – she hadn’t expected that out of everything. “All right,” she says, sounding slightly less hostile. “I mean, yes. It is.”

“Well, I doubt anyone can come up with a proper celebration, but – we thought, maybe some small dinner with just a few people could be put together. I mean, it wouldn’t be the celebrations you used to have back in the day but at least it’d be _something_. Obviously you should come and – I suppose he should, too.”

“I don’t think –” Gendry starts.

Theon shakes his head. “Please, I was there when you had _that_ conversation with Robb. And you’ve – you just should be there.”

Arya is obviously at a loss for words, given how she’s staring at him. Well, she hasn’t said no, has she?

“Also, you might be needed.”

“ _Me_?” Gendry doesn’t seem too convinced.

“That Valyrian sword he has now,” Theon says, “it still has a Lannister handle and I doubt he will have time to worry about it. Since presents would be scarce and no one can go find any outside the castle, the queen – we thought maybe you could do something about it.”

“I’d be honored,” Gendry says at once. “I – of course. I mean, as far as I’m concerned.”

Arya finally stops staring and gives him a curt nod. “Good idea,” she says. “Of course we’re coming.”

“Good.” This has gone entirely too well. He almost can’t believe it was this easy.

“I can’t believe you two are – whatever. Never mind. It’s a good idea. We’ll be there. Tell me how it’s supposed to go when you have a clue.”

“Who says we don’t?”

“It’s written on your face,” she replies, and - she actually doesn’t sound that hostile anymore?

Who’d have known.

“All right. I – I’ll leave you to – whatever it was you were doing before. Thank you.”

Arya doesn’t reply any further, but this was entirely too smooth and Theon isn’t going to push his luck. Not at all. He leaves them in the forgery, good thing that at least she wasn’t looking as if she had aged twenty years when he came in, because _that_ look on her is just honestly upsetting. Then he heads back for the castle. Hopefully Lord Davos is around and he won’t have to look for him or anything, since his feet are really hurting at this point. He has a feeling that after this he’ll go straight to bed and hope that he passes out for the entire night.

 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to look for him much - Theon asks around, learns that Robb’s council just ended and he’s in his chambers. Theon gets there and damn but he misses the times a few staircases were nothing to him, and knocks on the door hoping that he doesn’t faint out of pain.

Lord Davos opens a moment later.

“Can I do something for you?” He asks after taking a good look at him.

“Uh, not really. This will be very quick. I – the queen and I, since it’s Robb’s nameday in a couple of weeks, we were thinking of – putting a small celebration together. I mean, it would be dinner with a couple of presents, nothing more, and we weren’t planning on making a show out of it.”

“Or to invite anyone in his council?” Lord Davos asks, smiling slightly.

“Given that the idea was to distract him from politics, not really. But we thought you should be there, so if you wish to come, well, I suppose you would be an exception. To the rule for which no bannermen should be invited, I mean.”

At that, Lord Davos’s small smile gets slightly wider. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll come to your celebration. Sounds like a good idea actually, your… king might really use a break.”

“He – he might?”

“Let’s say today’s council was hardly a walk in the park. Go ahead with your celebration, the secret is safe with me.”

“Right. Thank you. I’ll – I will let you know as soon as we have more details.”

“I will be waiting then.”

Well, this went over well. He figures that after the night he just had he deserved a break.

Gods, he really hopes that it doesn’t happen again. The last thing he needs is more distress when it comes to sleeping at night. It’s dark outside but he’s sure supper won’t be served for a while yet. He should probably go to the kitchens but the prospect is absolutely daunting and he’s not feeling hungry anyway, and he knows he should eat, but –

Tomorrow, he decides. He goes back to his own room and breathes out in utter relief the moment he can finally take off his shoes. He makes a point of changing his clothes and washing his hands and face before crawling under the covers and trying to get some sleep.

He really hopes that given how tired he’s feeling he’ll just pass out and wake up tomorrow morning having rested some without dreams of any kind whatsoever. It’s not much, is it? Meanwhile his feet are hurting even if he’s not standing on them – he needs to do something about it, soon. He stripped in front of an entire room full of people he hated, getting a maester to help him out with _walking_ shouldn’t be that complicated, should it?

He closes his eyes, wishes for a moment that Robb was here but then chides himself for it - he has no right to presume it and anyway no one would turn in this early, seven hells, and hopes again that his body leaves him alone at least for once.

\--

“Are you all right?”

Theon should probably feel thankful that it’s Gendry asking out of everyone. Then again, who else would be grabbing food in the kitchen rather than opting to break their fast with everyone else?

The fact that _Gendry Waters_ is apparently worried enough about his current state to ask him when they barely know each other isn’t really comforting, though.

“I’ve had better days,” Theon replies cautiously as he puts on his plate an extra strip of bacon he hopes he’ll be able to stomach. Given that he threw up twice in the night and both times it was because he had dreams that he’d have considered embarrassingly chaste when he was two and ten and he’s so hungry he could faint, he hope he can stomach it. “But – I could be worse, I guess. Uh, you don’t need to concern yourself.”

Gendry shrugs. “I – I suppose so,” he says, “but let’s say that I used to appreciate it when someone would ask after me. Growing up, I mean. No harm in paying others the same courtesy.”

Which is… well, nice to hear.

Then –

“By the way, uh, I think your proposal yesterday might have distressed Arya some.”

“ _Distressed_?”

“She might have spent the rest of the afternoon asking what was wrong with everything and why did _you_ have that idea when she hadn’t even thought about it.”

“And what was your role in this?”

“Listening to it, I suppose. In – somewhat related terms, I guess, do you think he’d want the sword itself reforged?”

Theon shrugs. Good question. “I – in theory he might,” he replies truthfully – he can’t imagine Robb wanting a sword whose blade looks red and black. “But I guess that would require someone who can reforge Valyrian steel. I doubt there’s someone who can _here_.”

“No,” Gendry confirms, “and there barely was in King’s Landing for that matter. I mean, if the idea was making those swords red and gold they didn’t exactly manage it, did they?”

“Then it’s moot to worry about it,” Theon says, moving away from the table and slipping the thinnest bacon slice into his mouth. “I mean, if no one can reforge it then it’s useless to ponder whether he’d like it done or not.”

“True,” Gendry agrees. “I was just thinking of the materials for the handle, that’s all. Anyway, I think I have some ideas. Arya also has some. It’s – it will be ready within the week. Maybe a few days more, but not longer.”

That sounds good. After all, they do have two full weeks, more or less. It should give them time to spare. Gendry digs into his porridge as he leans against the wall next to him and Theon wishes he had that appetite – by the time Gendry’s polished his plate, he has barely managed to eat the bacon, and he still has some bread and a honeycake left. A part of him is saying _don’t even bother, you’ll throw it up soon enough_ , but another is telling him that he’s going to need to get over it as soon as possible and so he ends up eating both after Gendry leaves. He even says goodbye.

It feels so weird he doesn’t even know how to compute. He can expect it from Robb or Ser Davos or Jeyne, as much as the latter came as a surprise, but – other people just don’t compute, especially if they’re friends with Arya. Who is hardly his greatest supporter right now.

Still, it would be foolish of him to complain about that now. He finishes his food, steps out of the kitchen, resolutely does not think about how this morning he woke up feeling fairly warm and bothered and with his sheets damp, and not just because of sweat, and wishes he had anything to do because if this is going to be how things will go until it’s time to leave for King’s Landing then he doesn’t know if he’s going to survive until Robb’s nameday in the first place.

He ends up heading for the bathhouse – thankfully it’s empty. He ends up refusing it when the maid offers to heat up one of the tubs and he ends up washing in freezing water, which he’ll probably regret later, but right now it sounds like a great plan. If anything he’s completely gotten rid of any lingering feeling from this morning and he doesn’t need to dress his wounds anymore, so he doesn’t need anyone to do it for him.

He dresses again, good thing that at least he can wash whenever he likes, and he’s considering trying to sleep some more - surely after this nothing will happen, won’t it?

And that’s when Robb calmly walks into the room.

“Hey,” he says, moving closer, and looking really worse for wear – he has bags under his eyes and he probably didn’t even brush his hair this morning from the looks of it –, “I was wondering where did you end up.”

He’s smiling ever so slightly as he says it and Theon for a moment feels a pang of guilt for not having looked for him in a while, given what he’s been doing these last few days.

“I – I figured you’d need –” he starts, then shakes his head. “You looked busy. I figured I’d leave you to it.”

“Next time you’re allowed to distract me from it whenever you see fit,” Robb sighs. “You don’t know how happy I’ll be the moment I can pass this bloody job to Stannis.” Robb shakes his head twice, rubbing at his eyes – for a moment Theon thinks _you look too young_ , and then he thinks about what he and Jeyne just realized yesterday and he almost blurts out _how can you stand to be around me_ , then doesn’t because – well, he knows why. No point in denying it now.

“I – I guess you’re not looking forward to taking the day off?” Theon asks cautiously, putting his cloak back on.

Robb laughs, but he doesn’t sound sincere or genuine. “I wish. I have another council after lunch time with possibly news from King’s Landing which we’ll have to take into account, people are worried about my decisions concerning Clegane because of course we shouldn’t trust former Lannister men, someone pointed out already that now that my sister is back I might look into marrying her off if we need allies fast and if it was up to _me_ I’d be going to White Harbor to get my brother already but what would be the point? At least if he’s there he’s not in the middle of a bloody war. On top of that no one thinks that my uncle staying married to Lady Roslin is a good idea but no one will tell him to his face.”

“Does that mean they do to your face instead?”

“Sadly. As if I have any right to tell him who he should marry or not. It would be ludicrous.”

Theon shudders. No arguing will come from him on this specific matter.

“Any other bad news?”

Robb does laugh a tiny bit at that – he heads for the door and Theon follows. No point in lingering back. He’s also cold, but that’s neither here nor there.

“That’s the worst, I guess,” he replies. “The rest is as usual.”

Theon, for a moment, wonders how he ever thought having a similar job was a good idea.

“Did – did Jeyne tell you that we actually… went to visit Lady Roslin? Sort of?”

“She did,” Robb confirms. “More reasons why I wouldn’t want to meddle with my uncle’s bloody marriage. Fuck, I’d feel horrible just thinking about talking to her.”

“She seems fairly invested in staying married to him for reasons that aren’t just survival, though.”

“Well, it won’t be me telling her that she shouldn’t. Maybe if I go with Jeyne next time it wouldn’t be that terrible. Also, why are you shivering?”

“I’m not,” Theon protests, too late. He is kind of trembling, but then again’s cold, isn’t he?

Robb reaches out and feels his wrist. “You’re _freezing_. Did you actually bathe in cold water?”

“No point in wasting time heating it up,” Theon lies, and then Robb shakes his head, takes a look around the corridor and –

Puts an arm behind his shoulders and drags him forward, and no, the last thing he needed was the two of them touching but it’s not as if he can or would even want to say no, so he doesn’t and lets Robb lead him to his room, and for once he’s so worried about other things that his feet hurting doesn’t even register.

“Seriously,” Robb says as they get inside Theon’s room, “I never told you to try to accelerate your own death. It’s too cold to bathe in water that’s not heated.”

“I got through worse,” Theon answers, and given that his teeth are slightly chattering he’s probably not doing a great job of meaning it.

Robb takes a good look at him, then –

“Come on, get under those covers,” he says, “you’re freezing and – well, I could use some rest.”

“ _What_ –“

“My daughter couldn’t sleep for the entire night and I was writing ravens in the first place. I don’t have to be downstairs until lunch, if I choose to, which I could – well, I could go straight for the council. I can get some sleep, too.”

A tiny part of him says _refuse_ , because _that would make things worse, wouldn’t it_ , but it’s nowhere near big enough to have any relevance in his decisions. He takes off his shoes, grimacing - damn, he can’t postpone dealing with the state of his feet that much longer – and crawls under the covers while Robb takes off his own and most of his clothing. He only slips under them as well when he’s in his breeches and shirt, and Theon has to bite down on his tongue not to gasp when Robb puts an arm loosely around his waist. Nothing different from what he’s done until now, and he wants it so he doesn’t say no, but still –

He hopes it doesn’t have any other consequence.

“Shit, you’re really cold,” Robb mutters.

“It’ll pass. But, maybe, can you send a maester here at some point soon? I mean, I have – I don’t know if something can be done about my feet, but if it can, then… maybe I should let someone look. I guess.”

“Of course,” Robb agrees, “I can see if he can come this evening or tomorrow morning at latest.” He sounds like he’s this close to falling asleep though, and so Theon says nothing and lets him.

And shit, this is – before, he hadn’t really taken notice. Back in the day he just didn’t as a general rule and these days - he noticed… other things.

But now – Robb’s arm feels heavy in ways he can’t describe, and Robb’s fingers slightly grasping at his hip are warm and slightly holding on, as if he’s keeping him there and isn’t quite planning on letting go. He can feel Robb’s breath evening out against his neck and any other day it would be soothing.

Not this one though.

He swallows once, twice, then moves his whole hand so that it covers Robb’s, just barely. His pulse is steady and slow but somehow every time Theon feels it he feels like jumping and his entire back is going from freezing to _on fucking fire_.

What’s wrong with him? What?

Fuck this to the seven hells and back, the first time they shared a bed Robb was six and it had been less fucking – not awkward, but surely less complicated. _Any other time had been less complicated._

He breathes in and out, trying to match it to Robb’s – at best he gets some sleep and rests, at worst – well, at worst he’ll get warm and maybe if he thinks hard enough about - about his father or something equally unpleasing that’s not Ramsay Bolton he’s going to get through this with his dignity intact.

He hopes so, at least.

\--

Part of his hopes is not disappointed – eventually, he falls asleep and there’s nothing in his dreams for once, which is good and he’s not going to complain about it.

What he’s disappointed in, is that when Robb starts moving behind him and Theon opens his eyes he can’t help feeling _it_ again – fuck, _fuck_ , he’s hard, again, and maybe if he stays really still Robb won’t notice or he’ll have to explain this and he wouldn’t want to. Not now. Especially because he can barely conceive the idea of fucking right now, _anyone_ , but if Robb thought –

He tries hard to think about – about Sandor Clegane’s face or something equally displeasing.

“I have to go,” Robb mutters, moving away. Theon misses the contact at once but also breathes out in relief. “Damn, if it goes on like this this might end up being a daily occurrence. I will have to rest at some point.”

Theon clears his throat. “You’re always welcome,” he says quietly. Robb laughs – and for once it’s not forced – as he moves in front of him, on the other side of the bed.

“Good to know at least _that_ isn’t changing,” he says, and then – then he moves forward and brushes his mouth against Theon’s temple before turning away and reaching for his clothes.

In the next few minutes, he dresses, tells Theon where he’ll be and that he might come back later if not for the evening given that he really needs sleep. Theon says in all the right places.

But his mind isn’t in it, because –

Because Robb had moved _in front of him_ , and while it wasn’t exactly huge or anything, there was really no mistaking the slight bulge in his breeches.

Now, it’s not that he’s worried that Robb might have done _anything_ about it in his presence – he’s out of the door a moment later, so either he’s going to deal with it later or not at all, and it’s a relief on some level.

On the other –

It might have been a physical reaction. Theon’s, right now, may be and may be not but his dreams are certainly not _physical_ , so he doubts it’s his case. Robb’s might be.

Or it might be that he actually found the prospect of sharing a bed with him somehow exciting, or that he’s found it exciting already and Theon just never noticed.

But that’d mean –

That’d mean that Robb _wants_ him at some level, wouldn’t it?

He breathes in and out. In and out. In and out.

On one side it sounds ridiculous and certainly he’s just imagining it. On the other – on the other Robb did say that he doesn’t care what he looks like, hasn’t he? And he’s still _here_ and they did kiss and –

Fuck. _Fuck_. So what if he does?

Well, he wouldn’t tell. He _did_ behave as if nothing was going on, so obviously he thinks Theon’s not interested, which is also very true, but -

He doesn’t think he could be at any point soon, but does it even matter if it’s what _Robb_ wants? He couldn’t imagine reaching down and taking care of his problems himself same as he used to back in a previous life, but could he let Robb?

Thing is – he doesn’t know. But maybe he could try. After all, he’s not – he’s nothing anyone would want, but if Robb does, giving what Theon owes him wouldn’t it be the least? If Robb asked, could he even say no? Would he want to say no?

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

He has no clue. What he knows is that at least thinking about _this_ has made sure that his body caught the memo – he’s definitely not hard anymore. Good, because maybe he can enjoy the soft sheets and mattress for once without feeling like he might jump out of his skin at any point.

He breathes in again. He swallows and moves his hand to his chest – fuck, _fuck_ , he still can feel his own ribs.

 _How_ would anyone with some sense even _want_ him the way people used to back when he had all his limbs attached and good looks and could actually show them an extremely good time?

Ah.

There’s _that_ , too. He doubts that even if he found the guts to actually tell Robb to go through with it he might contribute to it much. Except – except that back in the day, he used to. Both with Robb and with others, but of course now it would be completely… not in the picture. But he’s not much to look at or anything else, so if he doesn’t even contribute what would be the point even be?

But it all goes back to the first question. Was that just a physical reaction or was it because of _him_? Gods, Robb has a wife and certainly they’re not – chaste, Theon figures. He doubts Robb has to satisfy his needs elsewhere or that he doesn’t satisfy them with her. Or viceversa. Gods, why is even thinking about that? 

Anyway. It’s ludicrous to assume that he’s so desperate when it comes to physical needs that just sleeping next to _him_ would get them hard, especially if the two of them were tired and have barely slept for two days. So even if assuming that Robb actually does… desire him that way sounds ludicrous, it’s still more likely than the other option.

Thing is – he _wouldn’t_ actually ask. Gods, no, that would just – feel more humiliating than anything he can think of. He’d strip in front of Robb’s bannermen all over again down to his smallclothes if it meant never having such a conversation.

Still, the idea is… well, if Robb actually does feel like that in spite of everything there’s some hope left for him yet.

 _If_ he can ever come around the idea of – of actually going through with it. He doesn’t know if he can.

But maybe – can he just let Robb have what he wants, if he really does want it? That’s an entire other question, he thinks. And maybe he could. If only because it would really be the least, and he doesn’t know how Robb would or could ever think that he’s _desirable_ right now.

If he does, though…

If he does, he doesn’t think he could say no. He doesn’t know if he’d want to, but it couldn’t be too hard, and certainly it wouldn’t be the same as -

No. He’s not going to go there and throw up all over again. Not when his breakfast hasn’t left his stomach for the first time in a while.

He’ll think about it. And hopefully next time it won’t happen and he can chalk it up as a one-off and he can stop thinking about anything related to his bloody traitorous body.

\--

The good news is that even if it _doesn’t fucking stop_ at least after three days he doesn’t throw up anymore. He feels absolutely uncomfortable and spends too much time in bed willing for his morning hard-ons to go away before leaving it, but at least he doesn’t vomit. Given that he’s trying to eat more other than keep his food down, nothing to complain.

It only happens once – as in, when he thinks, _but would it be too bad if I took care of it myself_. He goes as far as unlacing his breeches and then he throws up before his fingers have even touched his waist.

He doesn’t try anymore after then but he doesn’t have to part ways with his lunch after, so he figures he’ll just deal with it. At least it’s _something_.

He tries to distract himself as much as he can. Gendry actually does give him news on the status of the sword handle, Arya isn’t looking at him murderously about half of the time they run into each other, Jeyne assures him that at least they will definitely have the blackberry cakes and she arranged for some northern food to be delivered by the time the day rolls by. Also, Lord Edmure hasn’t decided - from what Theon gathers he _would_ go but he doesn’t want to leave his wife behind and he doesn’t know if she should come, all things considered.

“He said that he will have some kind of present if he doesn’t come, though,” Jeyne tells him when she informs him of how their conversation went. He also can’t help noticing that she’s sewing Robb a new cloak or so it looks like - he asks her and she confirms it, which means she will have something for Robb just from her –

Which is good. Actually, it’s how it should be.

But what does _he_ have?

Not much. _Nothing_ , actually, Theon thinks bitterly that evening as he turns under the covers, trying to find some kind of sleep. He has absolutely nothing that isn’t – well, his charming self and the clothes on his back. Gods, he doesn’t even own nothing for that matter. He hasn’t had _possessions_ since he lost Winterfell to Ramsay, has he? He spares a moment to think of all the clothing he lost in the sack - it’s dumb that he’s missing it now but he somehow does.

Thing is – he can’t make anything himself. Even if he could sew, which he can’t, it never was included in lessons for Ned Stark’s male heirs – he couldn’t do anything with the state of his fingers.

 _I have just myself_ , he concludes bitterly, and that doesn’t really translate to much.

If only that was the only problem, though.

Robb isn’t really sleeping much. Since the trials ended he’s been in war councils without ever stopping for one day and it’s obvious that he’s tired. Which is most probably why every two days or so he shows up in Theon’s room in the late morning or early afternoon. Theon doesn’t tell him that he can’t sleep with him there if he feels like it, first because he _wants_ Robb to, and second because he also needs rest and this forces him to get some.

But he can’t help paying special attention to _that_ single thing.

And every time, without fail, when he looks at Robb dressing after leaving the bed, he can’t help noticing that he _definitely_ is… well. Bothered. After the fourth time Robb comes by and leaves the bed with a fairly noticeable erection Theon has to admit it to himself – there’s no way it was just a physical reaction the first time. No, it couldn’t have been.

Theon still can’t conceive it. He can’t conceive the idea that Robb wants him enough to – well, get bothered. _He_ wouldn’t ever look at himself twice, right now.

But maybe –

Maybe if that’s what Robb wants –

 _How hard can it be_? He wouldn’t have to do anything. He could just tell Robb to go ahead and do it if he wants to, and he wouldn’t mind it overtly, probably. Well, no, maybe he would, and the idea of anyone actually seeing him naked almost makes him want to vomit all over again, but it’d be Robb. He’d be – well, not like – _like_.

And considering everything that’s happened up until now, wouldn’t it be the least? It’s not as if he thinks he’s any prize at all, he’s not, but _his_ opinion doesn’t matter now, does it? Not when the point is Robb’s opinion. And as far as the fact _he_ doesn’t have to do a thing…

Maybe if he repeats that to himself every other day up until Robb’s nameday he might actually believe it. And even if he doesn’t, he doubts faking it would be too hard.

He’s faked worse. _Plenty_ worse, for that matter. He’s still not sure it’s a good idea or anything that Robb might somewhat actually deserve getting, but it’s not as if he has any alternative, has he?

Maybe he should ask Clegane for some more alcohol before he attempts to actually put it into words when the time comes. That would be a good idea. He’s laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling and feeling like getting drunk _right the hell now_ , actually, but tomorrow the maester should come visit him in the morning and maybe being hungover when it happens wouldn’t be a good idea.

So he doesn’t, and he goes to sleep, and he wakes up to a raging hard-on after a long, nice dream where he and Robb just were sitting under a tree in the weirwood kissing and doing nothing else, and he blinks and just stares at the wall until the damned thing goes away and it’s not creating unnecessary distress anymore.

He washes – with cold water. He waits for the maester, dreading the moment when he’ll have to actually strip in front of the man. But when Robb asked if he should come just to check on his feet or on, well, everything else, he thought about it some time before finally blurting out that he might as well check _everything_. He will have to do it at some point, better get it over with.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait too long - maester Vyman knocks on his door not long later and for a moment Theon honestly doesn’t even know what to say as the man looks at him as if he’s seen a ghost.

Of course. The last time he saw Riverrun’s maester was back before he sailed for Pyke and until now he’s been checked over by the one who had gone with Robb’s army, he can’t even remember the name. Probably it was someone who had come over with either Stannis or whoever.

The man clears his throat before closing the door. “When His Grace told me you needed me to give you a _serious_ look I might not have understood the full extent of it,” he says. “Apologies if –”

“It’s the truth,” Theon interrupts him. “We – we might as well get it over with as soon as we can.”

“Very well. Is there something specific you would like to – be addressed first?”

Good thing that he hasn’t bothered with putting on shoes. He sits down on the bed, takes off his socks and waits for the maester to take the sight in.

“This,” he sighs. “I mean, I know that it’s not likely, but if there was anything I could do to, well, make it less painful to walk…”

Maester Vyman openly swallows before kneeling and taking his ankle in between his hands - Theon looks at his side rather than watch the man examine his feet. He does the same with the second foot, then lets them go and breathes in before standing.

“Very well. May – may I see the rest so I can give you an opinion all at once? Unless -“

“No. No, I’d rather have it at once.”

“Fine. Then – uhm, my lord, you should –”

“You can spare me the _lord_. And – I think I know.”

As if. He did it in front of fifty people. No point in fretting now. He strips without looking himself over and at one point he considers keeping on his smallclothes, but then he takes them off as well. No point making the man ask and embarrassing the two of them once again.

“So,” Vyman says as he takes a look at his back, “how long does it usually take before walking becomes really painful?”

“Well, it hurts as soon as I do,” he admits. “But – half an hour? Maybe a bit more? After then it’s usually… not good, but it’s not as if I could do much about it.”

“Very well. Can you turn?”

As if he could avoid it. He’s thankful that Vyman says absolutely nothing as he takes in the state of his chest and his front in general. When he’s told he can put on his breeches again he breathes out in relief before he does, and when Vyman puts a hand on his back and asks him to breathe a couple of times he does it. He doesn’t complain when Vyman asks if he can see the state of his teeth and Theon lets him, and he almost cries out in relief when he’s told he can put his shirt back on as well.

He’s dressed again when Vyman takes a chair and starts rummaging through a bag he brought with him – he eventually takes a few small vials out of it before placing it back on the ground. Then he looks at Theon in the eyes and Theon braces himself – this is not going to be good.

“Just because you look terrified,” Vyman says, “I will start saying you’re not as bad off as you think you are.

For a moment Theon can’t believe his own ears. “Sorry?”

“Whoever fixed your teeth did a good job of it – if you take good care of the ones you have left and are careful you shouldn’t have problems with them at all. Your breathing is fine and your heart is beating normally, so whatever happened to you did _not_ cause permanent damage there. As far as the rest goes, it’s – well, I imagine you don’t want me to lie to you, do you?”

“Gods, no. Just say it.”

“You can’t go back to what it was without anything to show for it. Or at all. But, you can do more than one thing about it.” He stands up and moves closer, the vials in hand. “First thing, the – the state of your skin. It’s growing back, and you should let it, but if you can put some of this on it once each day,” he says, handing Theon one of the vials. “It’s an ointment, it doesn’t speed up the process but it might lessen the pain. While when it comes to your hands and feet, you might want to put some of _this_ on the wounds.” He hands Theon a second vial. “It helps cicatrizing them earlier and at least they would hurt less. Also, you need to eat more.”

Nothing that Theon hadn’t known already. Vyman probably reads that on his face even if he doesn’t say it.

“I know it might sound ludicrous to you, but the more you eat and the more varied it is, the faster you’ll fill out the space between your ribs.”

“I can’t,” he admits. “I mean, I can’t physically have more than – my usual.”

“Then try to get a bit more with each meal. Even a bite, but you’re too thin. Consider getting as much meat as you can. And fruit, if you find any. If it gives you motivation, well, the moment you get back to a normal weight that hair of yours might look darker.”

“ _What_?”

Vyman shrugs. “That’s what they taught us. I would consider that if I were you. When it comes to your feet, for now the only advice I can give you is trying to stuff some wood or anything hard into your shoes and in between the spaces, maybe it’d give you some relief. I can try to think of something better or look if there’s something in my books but for now that’s the most I can advice you. Also, don’t run, try to get as much sleep as you can and don’t overdo it with your shoulder, that wound wasn’t infected and it’s healing well, too, but you lucked out.”

“I – I know,” he agrees. Nothing to add on that side - he did luck out, didn’t he?

“Good. When you’re out of ointment you can find me and ask for more, I have plenty.”

Theon is well aware that just one topic hasn’t been touched.

He wishes he could avoid it but -

But he has to know.

“Fine. But. One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Is – is it – fuck, what’s the situation like _here_?”

He makes a motion so that his hand moves around his groin and Vyman nods in understanding.

“I wasn’t sure that you wanted that discussed,” he says cautiously.

“I’m not sure either, but I need to know.”

“Well,” Vyman starts, then shakes his head. “I suppose we should just talk to each other straight. You really need to apply some of that ointment to, uh, _the flayed skin_ , because that can’t have been healthy and I don’t know how you even survived such a treatment, but as far as, well, _functionality_ goes, I can’t guarantee you that you will have heirs if you ever plan on finding yourself a wife because I can’t know what it entailed exactly, but as it is right now, nothing seems… damaged.”

“ _Nothing_?”

“Not from, uh, the looks of it. It’s about the one part in that entire part of your body I wouldn’t worry too much about. Does that satisfy your question?”

“Uh – yes. Yes, it does. Thank you, I –”

“No need for that, but - just, look after yourself. I will let you know if I find anything that can be done about your feet.”

Theon nods as Vyman leaves and – well.

Those news were definitely not clashing with reality. Since, well, it seems like things are _functional_ indeed. How much is no matter - he doubts he would be fathering any heirs and that anyone would even want him to. Still –

 _Wouldn’t be the first thing Ramsay Bolton lied about_ , would it?

As if - he doesn’t even need to ponder that question for much. Of course he was lying. About everything.

Even –

He breathes in, turning the vials in his hands. Right. He has something to do with them. He might as well start –

And then he realized that it would imply running his hands right over his groin, all of it, and -

He doesn’t throw up just because he manages to swallow the impulse back down.

Shit, now this is going to be hilarious, he thinks as he opens the second vial and applies a bit of it over the places where his fingers and toes used to be on both hand and feet. He certainly can’t ask anyone to do it for him though, can he?

Seven hells, he _hates_ this so much and he hates Ramsay for what he did to him and he hates this entire situation and he wishes things weren’t _functional_ so he wouldn’t have to worry about it, and he thinks of Robb’s reaction whenever he leaves the bed and he hopes he can find it in himself to actually go through with his plan when the day comes.

After all, it would be the least, wouldn’t it? And if he can make Robb even somewhat slightly happy, it would be worth it. 

Well then. It’s decided.

He just hopes he can get through with it when it’s time to, but then again, it would hardly be the worst thing he’s ever had to put himself through, so he doubts that this might go wrong.

Meanwhile, well, he has to worry about his fucking feet, doesn’t he?

\--

Putting a few pieces of wood in his shoes does moderately help with walking, and those ointments do somehow ease it up when it comes to managing how painful those wounds are, he decides a week after the maester’s visit – the problem is far from solved, but hey, at least he can somehow walk for more than thirty minutes without wanting to scream in pain every other moment. And he hadn’t realized how much his flaying wounds still hurt until he put that cream on them - he can’t wait for the moment his skin grows back completely and he can do away with it, but as it is maybe he should have talked to a maester a lot earlier.

If only.

He hasn’t exactly thought of that part of the conversation regarding _the only part of his body that he shouldn’t be worrying about_ , mostly because whenever it comes back to life usually ignoring it works as long as he doesn’t think about what’s going to happen when he finally tells Robb. But he has a few more days before then so he’ll try to not think about it until then.

Then, four days before Robb’s blasted nameday, Gendry finds him and tells him that he’s done with the handle and if he wants to give it a look he’s welcome to. Theon follows him to the forgery - Arya is there, not that he’d have doubted otherwise - and she barely sends him an annoyed look before turning her attention to her own sword. Theon hopes she isn’t thinking of using it at any point soon. Gendry motions for him to come forward and heads for a small alcove where something is wrapped in a piece of grey cloth. He takes it and unwraps it.

“Here,” he says, unrevealing it. “Arya says it’s probably too exaggerated, but - he’s still a king, isn’t he?”

And – well, damn it, the thing is a work of art. The decoration in the middle of the handle doesn’t just resemble a wolf’s head, it looks so much like Grey Wind that you wouldn’t know Gendry actually never saw that specific direwolf in his life. When Theon asks him, Gendry shrugs and says Arya must have had a very good memory. When Gendry hands it over Theon is almost sure that he’ll drop it – it looks heavy – but he doesn’t, and it’s actually… well, if it’s a sword someone has to use with two hands, it’s definitely a good weight. The handle also isn’t overtly long or huge – Theon’s fingers look skeletal around it, but someone with healthy hands wouldn’t find it too hard to lift it.

“That’s – gorgeous,” he finally says. “I don’t think it’s, uh, exaggerated. It would fit that sword well. And even if Robb has it reforged to try and see if the color can be changed, it would fit with any, so – I guess that if after this you don’t become Winterfell’s blacksmith at least I’d be surprised.” Gendry mutters something along the lines of _please don’t exaggerate_ , but he doesn’t know that Theon almost said ‘if you don’t become Robb’s brother-in-law in the next couple of years’. Probably better to keep that specific information to himself, Theon figures. He assures Gendry that it’s exactly what they were looking for and leaves the forgery feeling somewhat better about what’s going down in the next few days.

That’s when Maester Vyman stops him.

“His Grace is looking for you,” he says, “but before then, could you come to my rooms a minute?”

“If it’s not urgent –”

“I told His Grace, who said that he wasn’t in any hurry and you should come with me first.”

“Well then. Of course.”

Theon follows him to his rooms and takes a seat when Vyman shows him one.

“Now, about your, uh, situation,” he says, “I thought about it and I think I have an idea. Better than that anyway. But you’ll need to see a carpenter for that.”

“A _carpenter_?”

“See,” he says, “the thing is that without your toes you don’t have balance and that – well, ends up hurting you in the long run. But I thought…” He takes a piece of paper and hands it over. There’s a drawing on it – a foot, presumably his, with – with –

“I thought,” Vyman starts again, “that if you get some fake toes made specifically to suit your foot and then bind them with a leather strip, if you tie it to your foot and wear it like a glove… well, it would not move, it would stick to it and you could take it on and off when needed, and it would be better than just filling the holes with wood in your shoes. It might never make it completely right, but it’s still a better idea than the alternative.”

Theon looks at it and thinks, _maybe it would work._ He has never heard of any such thing before, though.

“Anyway,” Vyman says, “I found something similar in this book from Essos I had in my library. They talked about such a contraption made with just one toe and there was a drawing of it, but there’s no reason why it couldn’t work with more than one. Especially if you keep it tied really tightly.”

“And you recommend wood for this?”

“It’s lighter,” Vyman says, “and easier to carve, never mind that it should be in constant contact with your skin and I don’t think iron or metal would be any kinder to your wounds.”

Theon wonders, maybe Gendry knows how to work wood as well? It’s not a given, but he’d rather have _him_ doing it than someone he doesn’t know. He’ll ask. But the more he thinks about it the more he decides it would be worth the humiliation - it sounds like it would really improve the situation and he hadn’t even thought he might get that far at any point ever.

“Thank you,” Theon finally says, trying to keep his voice even. “Can I keep this or –”

“I have another copy,” Vyman replies. “And whoever it is that you find who’d carve those toes for you, they probably should see it so they would get a general idea of it. Keep it.”

“Oh. All right. I, uh, I guess I should –”

“Yes, go see _His Grace_ ,” Vyman says, and _is he smiling ever so slightly_? “Let me know if you find anyone who might help you with that. He said he would be in your rooms.”

“Of course. Thanks again.”

He leaves the room carefully folding the piece of paper and putting it inside a pocket in his breeches – gods, if he actually can find someone who’d do this…

He doesn’t let himself think too forward – it’s not a given they might pull this off and people have more important things to think about than his fucking feet.

He heads straight for his own room, wondering why Robb would want to see him there and send for him on top of that – when he gets there his feet are hurting already, no news on that front of course, and Robb is sitting on Theon’s bed. He stands up the moment Theon comes in, and he’s - grinning? Why?

“Oh, here you are,” he says, “get over here. I might have something for you.”

“You have something for me?” Theon can’t help asking, and barely stops himself from saying _when I should be the one who has something for you_?

“Well, if you want it. I might have sent for some… things in Winterfell.”

“What?”

Robb shrugs. “We’re going to be here for the foreseeable future and before we headed for the Twins I sent a few people over to Winterfell figuring that they could bring – clothes and whatnot, whatever they found. I was starting to miss my own things, and we could barely bring anything when we left the last time. Also, I kind of – well. Wanted to see what exactly survived the sack. My men sent ravens and I told them what to bring so that I could get rid of it in case. I mean, I don’t think I would want to come back, open the wardrobes and find Mother’s clothes.” Robb sighs. “And I still have to bury her properly,” he says. “Never mind. That’s for another day. Anyway, I’ve had more than a few chests coming in today. Arya is overjoyed at having some of her old clothes, who’d have known I made a good call when I wrote them and said to bring the whole lot. My own things are useless,” he sighs. “And some of Jon’s old clothes actually fit her. Guess I’m not throwing those out anytime soon. Anyway, that’s not what you are here for.”

Robb nods towards a smaller chest at the foot of Theon’s bed - it wasn’t there before. “Come on, open it.”

Theon kneels and does, and –

Oh. _Oh_.

The chest is only halfway full, but it’s – he takes out the first item he can see. It’s a black cloak with golden krakens sewn at the bottom. Under it there’s one of his old doublets, black and gold as well. He rummages through it and good gods, it’s not _all_ of the clothing he used to own, but it’s enough of it that he could put together at least three different outfits.

Which probably wouldn’t fit him, he thinks sadly.

“I mean,” Robb says, “I don’t know if these would even fit you but I figured you might still want them. I’m sure we can find someone to re-fit them if you want to.”

“There’s no need –” He starts.

“I know,” Robb interrupts, “but if we’re doing this properly you should have your own things back and I doubt any of us is going to have to worry about acquiring trivial stuff anytime soon, so I thought I’d just leave them here. Really, if you want anything fitted again just ask, all right?”

He thinks he’s going to cry, and it would so _not_ be dignified right now. He closes the chest, figuring he’ll take a thorough look later. “Thank you,” he says, “it’s – appreciated. Really. You didn’t have to, but – thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Robb shrugs. “At least when we go back, if we ever do, I can have a clean start. Anyway, how did it go with Vyman?”

Ah, right. He’s going to have to discuss it.

“He – he said things are less bad than one might think and that I should eat more.”

“Well, I’m not going to be the one disagreeing. Anything else?”

Theon shrugs and figures he might come clean – he takes the piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over to Robb. “He – he thought I might find someone to carve some wooden toes and use something like this to at least… partially help out with my feet.”

Robb grabs the paper and whistles softly. “It looks like a good idea,” he says, turning it in his hands. “You don’t sound that enthusiastic about it, though.”

“It’s not about – the idea,” he says. “It’s that going around Riverrun asking for whoever might know how to carve for _that_ and having them actually see the state of my fucking feet isn’t exactly something I’m looking forward to, but – I don’t know why I’m even feeling that bad about it. I mean, after the trial one would think – never mind.”

Robb just _looks_ at him. “I imagine the problem would be that someone should actually draw your feet in a somewhat likely way before actually carving replacements?”

He nods and sits down on the bed; he really can’t stand anymore. “I was thinking of asking our _Ser Gendry_ if he can work wood other than iron, but –”

“First, it sounds decent enough to me – you know, they start from wooden swords before moving on to the real thing. You might as well ask. Other than that…” He shrugs. “I don’t think you need to look much further to find someone who might actually, uh, draw your feet.”

“Sorry?”

“Do you remember who was the best out of the two of us and Jon when it came to drawing maps back in the day?”

“You,” Theon answers at once. “Actually you were always pretty good, but you mean –”

“If you lie down I can do that. I can tell you for sure that there are no proper artists in this castle that I know of. I might as well do it.”

“You shouldn’t –”

“I have nothing to do right this moment and I’d rather stay here than have another argument with whichever of my bannermen says Stannis is taking too long and we should organize to march on King’s Landing regardless.”

“… Put it like that, I can see why my fucking feet seem like a better prospect.”

“See? So, are you going to let me do it?”

“Yes,” Theon says at once, and not just because he knows he won’t get a better offer, it’s also because he thinks he might have a problem with refusing Robb when he’s this fixated on something. He couldn’t back in Winterfell, he can’t now and he doesn’t even want to, for that matter. He takes off his shoes and socks while Robb goes to most probably take paper and quill from his own rooms. He’s back not long later with both, along with a huge book.

“Right,” he says, “lie down.”

“But -“

“Lie down, I’ll take a seat and do it from here. I have to look at them, don’t I?”

… That would be an excellent point, wouldn’t it? Theon lies down and tries to relax at least a bit and to keep his feet – or what remains of them – steady as Robb sits down, book in his lap so that he has something to draw on. He puts the ink and quill on the corner of the bed where they wouldn’t fall down, dips the tip in ink and starts sketching a moment later.

A few minutes into it, Theon decides he can’t take it – Robb’s _really_ focused on what he’s doing, which probably bodes well for the result, but having someone staring that hard at his fucking mangled feet isn’t doing a thing to help with a certain feeling of dread rising up his spine. Never mind that he’s thinking about the fucking circumstances of how he lost the damned toes, and Robb is only looking at his right foot now. The one where he has just _one_ finger missing. If it’s this bad for that one, he can’t even begin to think of how it’s going to be when he moves to -

To the one where he only has two toes left.

He swallows, closes his eyes and concentrates on the sound the tip of Robb’s quill is making on the paper – at some point Robb curses slightly under his breath but other than that they say nothing and no other sound can be heard. If only he could sleep while Robb does this, but then he thinks, _and what if I have one of those dreams again_ , and that wakes him up all right.

Better _not_.

“I think I’m done with the first,” Robb says, and Theon would congratulate him on how steady he actually sounds. He doesn’t know if he could have managed that, had their position been reversed. “I might have gone by memory when it comes to the last toe because uh, _well_ –”

“I know,” Theon interrupts him. Of course he would. He has no frame of reference since he’s lacking that same toe on his left, too. “I’m sure your memory can’t be that bad, can – oh.” He stops the moment he sees the drawing. Gods, he remembered that Robb was good but this is better than good. It’s not perfect or without corrections, but he’s drawn a fairly good likelihood of his toes and the missing one is – well, Theon figures it looks pretty much like it used to when he still had it. Surely it’s not overtly different. And the size is pretty much the same of the real thing. “This – this is great,” he blurts out. “I think it’s enough, actually – I mean, someone could get by just with this –”

“I guess,” Robb says, “but it won’t take me that much longer to do the other one. And I have the reference.”

Theon considers refusing for a moment but he knows Robb is right and that’s – well, if this goes through his life will drastically improve and regardless of how much he thinks he doesn’t deserve it deep down, maybe he needs to fucking forget it and move on. And if he can’t even let Robb look at his damned feet when he’s probably seen worse then what good id he even?

“Right. Go on.”

Robb puts away the first piece of paper, produces a fresh one while the other dries and moves his attention to the bloody left foot. Theon can barely stand to look at the gap in between his great toe and his fourth one. Never mind at the lonely empty space where his small one should be. Robb instead is staring and his face is betraying absolutely nothing and it’s unnerving because at least if he showed disgust openly he’d know it and he’d make peace with it. But he’s not. He’s not and Theon tries to stare at him and not at his feet, but it’s not working, and when it makes his leg go rigid he can’t do anything to stop it.

“Hey,” Robb says, interrupting, “do you need to take a break?”

“What?”

“You’ve just, uh, kind of gone rigid here –”

“No, it’s fine. Just go on. Don’t mind me.”

“Theon -“

“Don’t mind me, all right?”

Robb gives him a look that promises to discuss this more later and then proceeds - the tip of the quill scratches against the paper, he still looks down at his mangled foot without betraying a single expression and Theon thinks he’s going to start sweating soon if this agony doesn’t end.

Even if calling it agony is really unfair, he thinks a moment later.

“Say something,” he finally blurts out while Robb is still in the middle of it.

“What should I say exactly?” Robb asks.

“I don’t know, _something_. I mean, that – that can’t be good to look at.”

“Well, no,” Robb agrees, “or you wouldn’t need me doing it. And believe me, looking down at this is making me very angry, but that’s about it.”

“… Angry?”

Robb sketches on. “The more time passes the more I’m regretting killing Snow as quickly as I did, but what’s done is done – he deserved a lot worse.”

“Robb -“

“I did say I never wanted him to do this to you. Don’t move.” He concentrates on the drawing for a moment before moving the tip of the quill and dipping it back into the ink container. “And you really have to be some kind of – of monster to do that to anyone. I’m sorry I have to do this but other than that, they’re… feet. That’s it. And hopefully in a couple of weeks this matter will be solved, but if you think I should be disgusted or – whatever it is, I’m not. Clear?”

“… Clear,” he answers. There’s nothing else he could add with that tone.

He lets Robb sketch until he seems to decide he’s done and puts the pen away. The result is… well, the exact same as the other drawing. The foot itself is barely sketched but the toes are down to as many details as Robb could possibly manage and they’re the same size as the real thing, and he’s also sketched a few other angles so that whoever carves it would know how high the wooden toes should be. Theon swallows – he thinks he wants to cry, but it’s probably not a good idea.

“Thank you,” he blurts out. “Really, you didn’t have to, but -“

“Theon, shut the fuck up,” Robb replies, but he’s also kind of smiling. He takes back the drawing, places it above the other and goes to put everything on the only table in the room.

“And with that out of the way,” Robb says, “I think there’s one thing I should do before I have to go.”

“… What?”

Robb smirks and sits down on the side of the bed, and his hands –

One goes to Theon’s left ankle, pressing it gently against the bed. The other - 

Robb’s fingers brush gently under his foot before moving to the upper part. Just under the place where his second and third toe should have been.

“Robb –”

Whatever else he wanted to say dies in his throat the moment Robb pretty much gives his foot a fucking squeeze and touches also the empty hole where his toes should have been.

“For the umpteenth time,” he says, standing up and shrugging, hands reaching for his cloak, “I don’t care. Go find Gendry and bring him those drawings, will you?”

Theon nods, unable to say anything, and watches Robb go. His feet feel warm and to be honest he can’t remember the last time they didn’t hurt. His throat is so constricted he doesn’t know if he can even speak for now, but he figures there’s no time to lose – he puts his shoes back on, takes all drawings carefully and heads for the forgery. Thankfully Arya is not there – he doesn’t know if he could have had this conversation otherwise. He explains Gendry the situation and hands over the drawings - Gendry takes them and looks them over.

“Well,” he says, “I wasn’t the best with wood, but I reckon these can’t be too complicated unless you want them this fancy.”

“Uh, no,” Theon says quickly. “As long as they’re functional and the right size, no need for… anything fancy.”

“The size here is the real one, yes?”

“Yes. If you need to see -“

“I could do with a quick look. Just to get a feeling.”

Theon takes off his shoes again and almost cries in relief when Gendry just nods and scribbles something on the drawings before nodding again and telling him to put them back on, even if he’s visibly disturbed.

“You can come back in a few days,” Gendry says. “I don’t think it should take too long.”

“There’s no hurry, but thank you.”

“My lord, no offense but given… why you need them, I daresay there is some hurry. I don’t know how you’re even standing, truth to be told.”

Theon, who doesn’t know that himself, thanks him and says he’ll come back in three days or so before dragging himself out of the forgery. The moment he can breathe fresh air he feels like fainting.

He thinks about the way Robb had touched his fucking feet without even blinking when he can’t even look at them and he decides that he’s not going to let that affect him in public.

He goes back to his room and opens the chest again, taking out all the clothes inside it. He tries them on and eventually he finds one pair of breeches that he can tie tight enough that they don’t fall down, and he does find a couple of his old silk shirts that don’t look too large on him. It’s not that he suddenly looks like his old self again, but if he avoids the pieces of clothing with the Greyjoy sigil that prominent, he doesn’t look like some kind of joke. Maybe one day he can wear them again, if he ever puts back some muscle and can actually fill them in, but not today.

That said, he thinks he knows what he has to do. He’ll look through the crates again to see if he can find something he might actually give Robb personally four days from now. If yes, good. If not, well, patience. He will go to the nameday dinner wearing the nicest combination of the aforementioned old clothes he can find. Then – then he will ask for a moment alone and he will tell Robb that if he wants to – to, well, _lie with him_ , he would have nothing against it.

That’s the least. That is really the least he can do. He’s nowhere near sure of how that might actually go, but it doesn’t matter. If anything, after this entire afternoon, he’s sure that at least Robb should have what he wants if it’s in Theon’s power to give it to him, and this –

This is in his power, after all.

Never mind that if he looks at himself in the mirror he sees nothing anyone should want. It’s not his problem. Not now.

\--

The day before Robb’s nameday, someone knocks loudly on his door while he’s sleeping in late - well, not exactly. He couldn’t sleep and only passed out way into the night, so he wasn’t sleeping in, but never mind. Before he can answer, the door slams open and Arya shows up on the doorstep, looking absolutely not impressed with him.

“What -“ He starts, even if he knows he shouldn’t, but he’s too sleepy to even process it.

“Gendry wants to see you,” she says without giving him time to finish.

“Gendry?”

“Says he has something for you. I’d get down to the forgery soon. And what are you even doing still in bed at this hour?” She doesn’t even let him answer before slamming the door.

Well, that’s a bit more like her old self, Theon figures, but honestly? He’s rarely wished Snow was in the same place as himself most of his life but right now he really wishes the bastard was around because maybe if he were Arya wouldn’t – well. Maybe behave in a way that scares the shit out of him. He doesn’t even want to know what she went through, honestly.

Anyway, he’s not going back to sleep at this point and if Gendry wants to see him then it has to be about one thing and he should probably find out as soon as possible. He dresses quickly, puts on his blasted shoes and heads down to the forgery after washing his face and hands. No point in stopping to eat, his stomach is so closed he knows he wouldn’t manage to even swallow; never mind that it’s almost midday, breaking his fast isn’t even an option right now.

“My lord,” Gendry says as he comes inside the forgery.

“I think – I think there’s really no need for that,” Theon sighs. “Really, don’t. I don’t even know where I stand now when it comes to being a lord. Anyway, uh, Arya said –”

“Right. Well, I can’t manage better than this and I didn’t have much work to do in the first place these last few days so I think I have your – your things. I should probably check the measures for the leather bind, though.”

“Of – of course.” There’s a chair in the forge, so Theon takes it hastily and takes off his right shoe - Gendry rummages inside a basket on the ground and takes out a leather triangle with a few laces. It’s not exactly refined work but Theon hadn’t expected it. Gendry shrugs and hands it over along with - a wooden small toe. Gods, it’s - well, as similar as it goes to the one Robb drew, though not as detailed. The base is even covered with a small piece of leather.

“I figured it would hurt less. Uh, I guess you should try it on? Just to see how it is.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Theon pushes the toe inside the only hole in the bind – the base is slightly larger so that it doesn’t fall out – and then slips in the entire thing as if it was indeed a glove.

And – shit. It actually – stays put? He ties the laces to his ankle maybe a bit hastily and probably too tightly, but it barely registers. It doesn’t move. It’s also – proportioned?

He swallows. “It - it seems like this one doesn’t need extra work.”

“Good, because the next one might.”

Theon puts his sock and shoe back on, not even trying to stand up for now, and then bares his left foot without even thinking about how ugly it looks. If it worked on the right side –

The contraption for the left side is larger and with more holes, obviously, and all the fake toes are also covered in leather at the base – given that it’s not exactly hurting on the right side, he thinks it was a fairly good idea. He slips them all in and then puts everything in place. He ties it even tighter just to be overtly sure it won’t fall off, and –

Well. The fake fingers are actually all proportioned and they are _not_ moving either.

Gendry whistles. “Well, I hadn’t thought it would go over this smooth without touching it again.”

Theon is sure he might faint here.

“Maybe – try walking on them? If something’s wrong I can try to fix it, I think.”

“Oh. Right. Sure.” He puts shoes and socks back on hurriedly and then for a moment wonders if he can just sit down and save the feeling instead of facing the reality of the entire thing probably not working out the moment he stands up.

He breathes in, braces himself for miserably falling down and stands up.

He doesn’t fall down at once. He tries walking and – right, it’s a bit weird and he almost topples over, but the moment he finds a semblance of balance he realizes that it doesn’t hurt half as much as it did before and if he actually gets adjusted it might really work out.

Shit.

“Everything all right?”

“I – I think you don’t need to change anything,” Theon says. “Not for now, anyway.”

“Really?” Gendry sounds surprised. “Honest, I had no idea what I was doing half of the time. I was sure it’d need tweaking at the very least.”

“I – I don’t think it does. And you probably deserve some kind of promotion around here. Apprentice blacksmith sounds wasted on you,” Theon tries to joke, even if it falls flat. He really might faint here.

“I doubt it, but – good to know. Let me know if it needs further work.”

“All right,” Theon agrees, and – he doesn’t know how he doesn’t faint when as he goes back to the castle he doesn’t topple over and walking doesn’t hurt half as fucking much as it used to before.

Gods, _it worked_.

He thinks he had forgotten how it felt to walk while feeling only a moderate amount of pain, but it looks like nothing in comparison to the previous year.

He doesn’t break out crying as he walks up the stairs while not wanting to howl in pain for the first time in months just out of sheer force of will, and when he finally reaches his room he sits down on the bed and does cry out a few tears of utter relief.

Shit. It worked. He actually can walk like a normal person again, somewhat. His first instinct is to look for Robb and tell him but no, he’s probably busy. He should look for Vyman first and thank him, and then – 

Well.

Robb’s nameday is tomorrow. He will have plenty of time to tell him the news and possibly show him, if everything goes as planned.

And _it will_. At this point, he feels moderately optimistic. Of course it will. In the face of what just happened, nothing could be as bad as what he’s just got out of.

Or so he tells himself.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s probably telling that Robb doesn’t remember that _today_ is supposed to be his bloody nameday until halfway through the morning.

Admittedly, he had hardly even counted the days lately, but it’s not any good news that when he remembers he has already: woken up, broken his fast, gone through one small council where he finally could tell his lords that he received a raven from Dragonstone saying that Stannis has left it and will most definitely reach Riverrun in a week or so, no longer, checked on his wife and daughter and taken a bath.

The bath was mostly because he felt tired and he hasn’t had time to wash properly in a few days, and it looked like a decent excuse to have an hour or so to himself. So he had gone to the bathhouse – if he had it brought upstairs someone would have probably known where to find him just in case –, sent everyone out (he felt bad about it for a moment but he should have some advantages to being in charge, right?) and proceeded to spend the next blissful half-hour or so submerged in scalding hot water without thinking about anything in particular.

He should do this more often, he decides as he finally gets out of it when it’s too cold to stay in any longer.

He’s drying himself when his eyes fall to a calendar attached to the wall - evidently someone in here needs to keep the count of days for some reason - and sees the last ticked one.

Ninth turn of the moon. Thirteenth day.

 _Oh_ , Robb thinks, _I had forgotten_.

If he thinks that once upon a time _everyone_ ’s namedays in Winterfell were pretty much sacred and everyone would look forward to theirs he almost wants to cry. When he thinks about it and realizes what was going on exactly one year ago he shakes his head and starts dressing again, good thing he brought clean clothes – better that he doesn’t dwell on it. Given that he’s vowed himself to try and get over it he’s not going to let that sour his mood, never mind that it still was the day he met Jeyne, so… it’s… _something_ , he supposes.

Not that his fifteenth had been what he had imagined once upon a time. _Then_ it was going to be the moment his father officially let him take part in some proceedings when running the household and the lands, but when the moment actually came he had already been doing that regardless, no one felt like celebrating much with Bran having just lost his legs and he had been out all day checking things over in the village. It hadn’t been _bad_ – most of the villagers had known or remembered and they offered him extra food or sweets he knew they probably couldn’t afford to give out and he had ended up giving Rickon and Bran all the spoils, and after he came back to Winterfell they had a modest dinner and the highlight of the day had been – _had been_ –

Well, Theon had taken a good look at him, grabbed his arm and told Robb to meet him in his room later and –

Well, Robb was no blushing maiden when he bedded Jeyne now, wasn’t he?

His fourteenth – now _that_ had been nice. Everyone was still in Winterfell, they had most of Father’s bannermen over for lunch and dinner, there had been a dance in the evening, he had received more swords as gifts than he could care for (from the bannermen), Sansa had given him a new cloak she had sewn herself, for once Mother hadn’t protested when he asked her to let Jon sit at the regular table at least for lunch if not for dinner (eventually she relented on the latter, too), everyone congratulated him on being almost a man grown and –

As if. What a bunch of lies, he thinks sadly as he finishes dressing. He ties his cloak back on and leaves the dirty clothes in the corner along with a lot of others, the next room over is the laundry and they’ll recognize them for what they are. If not who even cares, he has enough to last him a few months. He’s probably not going to even remind everyone of the occasion; if they forgot, which is highly probable given that _he_ had forgotten, it’s probably not a good idea to bring it up or they’d feel bad. Never mind that it’s not really the time for frivolities such as nameday celebrations and there isn’t much to celebrate in the first place, is it?

Gods, he’s so tired he could actually spend the day sleeping it off. Too bad that he’s sure he wouldn’t have a chance to even if it’s not such a hard request to fulfill.

He leaves the bathhouse, wondering if he can spare a few hours to check on Theon later and get some sleep along with it. It’s probably not good news either that these last few weeks he has only managed to get any uninterrupted rest when he was there, but then he remembers that no, yesterday a number of minor lords from the Westerlands who had tried to stay out of the war arrived here to discuss a possible alliance given that Cersei Lannister is still not doing a great job of ruling over in King’s Landing and so he has to dine with them.

He goes back to his room to dress more properly. Clegane isn’t in front of it, which hopefully means Jeyne is enjoying some fresh air with their daughter and he should leave her to it. Theon’s door is closed and he’s tempted to knock but if he did he’d also be tempted to stay and – no. Maybe he can try this evening, if no one else finds him something to do which he can’t care less for. He puts on his nicest clothes and dons the blasted crown – the moment he steps down he’s going to have it _melted_ , seven hells – and gets ready for lunch.

Lunch is honestly such a drag he can barely keep his eyes open throughout half of it. The food is decent but he can barely taste it, every time someone brings up the dire situation of the Westerlands he’s tempted to just scream I can’t give a damn in their faces – but now that wouldn’t help, would it? – and so he hears them all out and plays nice enough that some agree to actually help them out when the time comes and others at least won’t stand in the way. By the time it’s over he’s barely tasted the food and he wonders if he can somehow get away with with hiding in his rooms for the entire rest of the day.

“What else is in the plans for today?” He asks his uncle the moment they’re left alone in the solar.

The Blackfish takes a long, good look at him. “ _Well_ , in theory nothing, but I’ve just been brought a few ravens and you might need to discuss their content soon.”

“Oh. From where?”

“Mostly from the Wall, but here it goes.”

The Blackfish produces the papers from somewhere inside his cloak and Robb takes them. There’s a few from the Wall indeed; the Greatjon got there with all the prisoners, Jon thanks him very much for sending them the men because they needed them but they might need more, there are no news about Bran but he says he has people still looking for him and no news is better than bad ones, he has executed some Ser Slynt who was most probably a spy from King’s Landing – great, if the Lannisters are so bent on using spies maybe Robb should get a few more for himself scattered around King’s Landing or _something_. The one raven from White Harbor confirms him that Lord Manderly will send men when needed and that Rickon is doing fine. At least that. Lord Reed has sent one raven saying that by the time this reaches Robb he will have left for Riverrun so that he can be with them when they leave for King’s Lading. The only raven from the Iron Islands informs him that Jeyne’s mother has been apparently _secured_ or so the raven says– given how Asha’s worded it, Robb isn’t sure he wants to know what that entails, but it’s not his problem anymore, is it? No news of either Greyjoy uncle who’s currently off to Essos, though. 

Well, he can’t lose his mind over that, too. He’ll deal with them when the time comes, if it ever does. (He hopes not.)

“Well, for once it’s all good news?” He says, putting them away.

“At least,” the Blackfish concedes. “But you should probably inform the others now.”

“Good point. Let everyone concerned know we’re going to have a small council in an hour just to discuss this, and then – just, can you make it so that whatever else I have to do happens tomorrow?”

Is his uncle slightly smirking?

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I think it’s doable. I will go warn the others.”

The council is thankfully uneventful but since he’s surrounded by bannermen who like to make plans for any eventuality regardless of how useful they are, by the time they’re done the sun has set down and he feels so tired he could fucking faint, most probably. Gods, would Jeyne or Arya feel offended if he just went straight to bed without dinner? Probably not, but it feels wrong that he’s almost through his bloody nameday and he still hasn’t talked to anyone in this castle he cares about bar his uncle.

One of these days he will understand where and when and how things started to go so wrong that he can barely recall the times when they weren’t.

He stands up, opens the door to the now empty solar figuring that he will just go find Arya at least, and –

Theon’s outside it. Standing while not grimacing. And he’s actually wearing some of his old clothes, which are a bit large on him but otherwise fit decently enough all things considered.

“Hey,” he says, unable to stop the faint smile coming to his lips. “Uhm, is there anything changed or…? Because –”

“I hope in the good sense,” Theon replies.

“Well, yes, I mean, you look slightly better than usual?”

“Your maester’s idea might have worked out. By the way, thanks again for –”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes. Gendry gave me the fake toes yesterday. I wanted to tell you but you seemed busy so I figured there was no point. Anyway, it’s working. I mean, it still hurts to walk but nowhere near as much.”

“That’s great,” Robb blurts, entirely meaning it. “I’m glad it worked out, and no need to thank me. Hey, it gave me a break among other things, so – would you show me?“

“Good to know,” Theon says, and is he slightly smirking? Even if he’s a bit tense. Robb would like to know what’s up with that. “And – of course, but, uh, do you have a minute?”

“I don’t think I have anything to do just right now. Yes, I have it. Why?”

“Just – I’d rather do it somewhere else.”

“Oh.” Of course he wouldn’t want to take his shoes off in the damned solar. “Yes. Wherever you want.”

“Maybe upstairs? I’ve been up all day so I’m kind of tired but I thought there was a private chamber just over the hall?”

Right. Robb almost never uses it, he’d rather have the solar or the Great Hall, but that room is closer than their private ones and no one would actually go in without making themselves known. “Yes, that’s fine.”

They head for it and Robb can’t help noticing that while Theon’s standing up slightly weird at least he doesn’t seem to be flinching at every step. He’s probably still finding the right balance but those fake fingers really seem to be working wonders and if he could help out with it, well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? They say nothing until they get to the room – Theon puts a hand on the handle, then takes a deep breath.

“Robb?” He asks, his tone of voice suddenly going lower.

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

Theon openly swallows. “No,” he answers, “but before we go in, I need to tell you something now. When it’s just the both of us.”

“… All right?”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but – first thing, I… I know which day is it.”

Ah, damn it, someone remembered.

“Theon –”

“And I _know_ what happened exactly a year ago. I’ve been beating myself up about it since I realized it and I don’t even know how you can talk to me without – without wanting to murder me at once just for that, but I’m sorry. I know I’ve told you endless times but I need to tell you I’m sorry about _this_ , all right?”

“… All right. Apologies accepted,” he says, just because there’s really nothing else he could do and really, there’s no point in nurturing bad blood over it when he’s decided to move on. “But really, I thought –”

“It was all behind us. I know, I know, but I had to for my own peace of mind. Other than that…” He doesn’t finish the sentence but he smiles ever so slightly and then –

Then he opens the door and pushes it open before grabbing Robb’s arm and urging him to go in, and –

 _And_ –

“I thought everyone had forgotten about it,” Robb blurts after taking in the state of the room. 

It probably wasn’t what anyone would have expected or the proper reaction in the first place, but given that everyone else inside it bursts out laughing at it, he figures it’s not so bad.

But – gods. The furniture has been moved so that the only pieces in the center of the room are a large table, the high seat and a few other chairs, the table itself is covered in food he actually likes and wait, who found blackberry tarts around here? There’s also honeyed chicken, something that definitely smells like beef and bacon pie, venison pies and shortbread at least that he can notice at first glance, and suddenly he feels hungry, not that he even remembers what he had for lunch.

He stops staring at the table enough to actually take notice of everyone inside the room - Jeyne is standing behind the table with the baby in her arms, and she’s obviously trying to not erupt into laughter as she takes into account how baffled he looks, most probably. Arya is standing a bit on the side looking thoroughly amused for the first time since she got here again and Robb thinks he could weep at it, Gendry’s somewhere looming behind her trying to not make himself too noticeable, Clegane is doing the same on the other side of the room. Meanwhile Lord Davos and the Blackfish are casually sitting on Jeyne’s side and they also look like they find his reaction absolutely hilarious.

“Hells,” Robb continues weakly, “ _I_ had forgotten about it until mid-morning.”

“Admittedly,” Jeyne laughs, “I didn’t know if I should remind you or not because it did look like you had forgotten. Good thing he remembered it,” she says, nodding towards Theon.

“What, you did?” Robb asks, turning towards Theon, who kind of looks downwards for a moment before shrugging and looking back up at him.

“I happen to still have a decent memory, you know,” Theon replies. “And honest, you deserved it.”

“But –”

“I told everyone else that you wanted to spend the evening with your wife,” the Blackfish interrupts him. “And after the day you’ve had I think you deserve to stop worrying about other people for three hours. Go sit already, you look like you’re about to faint.”

Probably because he’s tired, Robb reasons, but - it’s a point. “All – all right,” he says, and he kind of still wants to cry. “Thank you, I –”

“Robb, _take the bloody seat_.”

Robb isn’t going to reprimand his sister for swearing, and he doesn’t have to fake a smile as he heads for the high seat and sits down on it. Theon goes to the other side of the table and Robb isn’t surprised to see that he goes to sit next to Lord Davos, but then again it’s also the opposite side of where Arya is and given that he doesn’t think Theon’s in the clear yet as far as his sister is concerned it would just make sense.

“How did you even put this together?” He asks, looking at the food. It’s all Northern cooking, for that matter.

Jeyne shrugs. “A few people in the kitchen staff know something about Northern food,” she says, grinning. “And you deserved at least something you liked. Sorry if the celebration is what it is, but –”

“Gods, do you think I care? I wasn’t even thinking I’d – celebrate anyway. Thanks,” he says, and gods he sounds choked - he feels very thankful when Lord Davos clears his throat and says they might as well starting to eat and try the aforementioned Northern food. Arya comments that at least the cod cakes are remarkable while the stew is not, and Robb agrees but it’s enough that someone actually tried. Or that they’d actually go through the trouble of doing this in the first place, and patience if it’s nothing like his old birthday celebrations.

He also is very thankful that his great-uncle, for how much he’s not a man of many words most of the time, can keep a conversation around the table running while involving more or less everyone. At least he can concentrate on actually tasting his damned food. Jeyne looks radiant for once – the way she should have looked when she was pregnant, Robb thinks – and gods, maybe one day he’s going to be able to look at his daughter’s eyes without seeing his mother in them and feeling sad, but right now he’s not too sure he’s feeling _sad_. Maybe – maybe he wishes his mother was here to see her namesake but given that for once everyone around him looks not entirely miserable and he’s spending the evening with pretty much everyone he cares about in this castle, well, maybe there’s some good to look forward to.

Fine, it’s not ideal and there’s people missing who should be here, but he’s also not completely on his own and he’s moved that they’re actually all here and obviously making an effort for his benefit. So he’ll eat his dinner and his blackberry cakes and avoid letting negative thoughts devour him on his fucking nameday.

Gods, he feels so much older than fucking ten and seven.

He also lets everyone else make conversation around him – he’s had to lead it for the entire lunch and to be honest he’s tired, so he just takes a look at the others. Gendry looks like he feels out of place but at least he hasn’t stood up and gone to eat somewhere else; Arya is keeping him in place whenever he seems to consider leaving, but she’s also smiling more than usual and she doesn’t have her sword with her, thank the gods, maybe there’s some hope yet. Jeyne is still looking radiant – oh, she’s wearing a new dress, he thinks, or one she hasn’t worn often. Clegane is looking at all of them the way someone looks at a scene he can’t quite believe fully, Lord Davos and his uncle are engaged in some apparently engaging conversation and Theon –

Theon’s sending him looks that one might only interpret as _fond_ , but at the same time Robb can’t avoid noticing that he seems to be helping himself to the wine on his side of the table quite some.

Well, he’s also eating while he drinks and Robb will hardly be the one stopping him from either, especially if it means he’s going to eat a regular sizing of food.

He’s had a few glasses himself – hells, he’s allowed – when Arya clears her throat as he grabs the last blackberry cake from the tray he had in front of him. Everyone else went for every other sweet around the table and he doesn’t know if it’s because they know he likes them or because he’s the only one who does, but he’s not going to complain at this point.

“Yes?” Robb asks, swallowing a bite of cake.

“There’s things for you.”

“ _What_?”

“Namedays should have presents,” she declares.

“Of course,” his uncle interrupts, “given that we only had a couple of weeks to organize this –”

“I could have done without,” Robb says weakly. Gods, what even –

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Arya declares. “Anyway, it’s just two of them. Here.”

Then she pretty much slams a sealed letter in front of him. With the Night’s Watch sigil on it.

“What –”

“I wrote Jon,” she says, sort of defensively but not really. “He said to give this to you if it got here on time. You can read it later if you want to.”

Possibly a very good idea, Robb decide as he pockets it.

“All – all right,” he says. “I’ll – thank you, but –”

“Robb,” the Blackfish interrupts him, “this isn’t even a present, but Edmure said to give you this other letter.” He slides it towards him. “And as far as we’re concerned when you go back to Winterfell you can bring with you whatever you’d like. It would be the least. You don’t need to read that now, either.”

Good thing they’re sparing him the reading in public.

“Also,” the Blackfish keeps on, “I might have kept a correspondence with Lord Reed.”

“What?”

“It was nothing of import – for you anyway. He wanted to know a few things before coming down. Anyway, I guess it’s a good time as any to tell you that he confirmed us that he has your father’s bones and I took the liberty to tell him to bring them here. I thought you might want to – well, I know talking about funerals is hardly what you do on namedays, but –”

“Uncle, that’s – that’s plenty enough,” Robb says, and he kind of wants to cry but manages not to. “That’s – that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Gods, if he can’t bury them together at least their bones will be, he thinks, and – right. That’s more than he had thought he’d get six months ago.

“Good, because now there’s the real present,” Arya sighs.

“The real one?”

“Gendry, bring it over!”

“ _What_?”

Jeyne clears her throat. “Well, when Theon and I were discussing it, he brought up a fair point.”

“As in?”

“That you still have a sword with a Lannister handle,” Theon mutters, the first thing he’s said in the entire evening. “And I don’t think you’re relishing it.”

“Not – not really. But what does Gendry have to do with –”

“They, uh, might have asked me if I’d make you a new one. Your Grace.”

And then Gendry places carefully a bundle in front of him – a very heavy bundle. Robb swallows as he opens it and _gods it’s gorgeous_. The first thing he notices is that it’s a lot less opulent than his current one – it’s all grey metal without any frills or rubies or anything, but it’s very nicely refined. And the wolf’s head on the handle is -

It looks like Grey Wind did back when Father and his sister left for Winterfell had just died.

“Arya, was that –”

“It was both him and me,” she says. “I remembered him well enough.”

“If – if His Grace likes it I can change it tomorrow,” Gendry blurts out. “If not I suppose some things can be changed, but -“

The poor kid is trying to not look at him and Robb just –

He stands up and puts his hands on Gendry’s arms – hells, he has some muscles, but then again he’s a blacksmith, what news. “Ser?” He interrupts.

“Yes?”

“Never mind that my sister’s friends shouldn’t call me titles, after this, I just – let’s just say that it can be His Grace or whatever in public but if it’s this kind of occasion you can just call me Robb, how about it?”

“I – I, uh, Your Grace, that’d be –“

“Ser? If you really can’t let go of titles _my lord_ might do but - don’t, all right? I’m not going to be a king much longer, hopefully. And yes, I love it and I would be glad if you could change the old one as soon as you have time.”

“All – all right. My lord. Are you sure you’re trusting me with Valyrian –”

“It’s the handle, not the blade. Yes, I think I do.”

Gendry almost bows and then obviously thinks better of and moves back to Arya’s side. She’s beaming at him and Robb can’t have enough of seeing her behave like she used to before – _before_.

“Thank you all,” he says, his voice sounding so choked he can barely speak. “It was – I couldn’t have hoped for a better nameday, all things considered.”

Arya tells him to stop trying to make them feel better about a sorry celebration they should re-do the moment they go back to Winterfell and they all go back to finishing the leftover food, and Robb… Robb can’t help feeling warm all over and thinking that maybe, maybe something’s gone right for once.

That is, until it’s obvious that the festivities are over and he dismisses everyone thanking them again. He’s expecting Jeyne to ask him to go back to their rooms, but –

“Robb?” She whispers while everyone else is leaving.

“Yes?”

“Theon might have asked if you could have a bit of time with him for something. I don’t know what it is but whatever – if you shouldn’t come back tonight I wouldn’t mind.”

“Jeyne -“

“Robb. _I wouldn’t mind_.”

She leans forward, kisses him softly, holds the baby up tighter and leaves, with Clegane following him – he smirks towards Robb before leaving the room.

Now it’s just him and Theon inside and – Theon has just downed another glass of wine. But he’s also remarkably stable when he stands up.

“Is there something –” Robb starts.

“I – I need to ask you a few things,” Theon says carefully. “And – can we go to my room?”

“Well, of course.” He makes sure he has all the letters with him (Gendry brought the handle back to the forgery) and follows Theon out – he’s walking somewhat steadily even if Robb’s sure he’s drunk enough that he should feel at least a bit tipsy by now. He says nothing as they reach Theon’s room – when they do, Theon opens the door for him and they sit down on the bed after Theon locks the door. He also looks determined, but scared shitless.

What the hell?

“Theon, is there something wrong?”

“No,” he replies, almost too quickly, then he sits down as well. “I – the first thing I need to ask you… can I?”

“All right.”

“I – I noticed. These last few weeks. When you leave the bed, you always – it seems like –” He takes a deep breath. “You’re hard,” he blurts, not looking at him.

Oh, hells, Robb had hoped Theon wouldn’t notice, not because it’s somewhat misinterpreted, but –

Thing is, he has needs. That his wife can and does satisfy, but since she fell pregnant they have _laid_ together less, for obvious reasons, and now she’s tired a lot of time and he would never force himself on her or anything, so they only, well, do it when she feels up to. And since he made peace with his feelings, when it comes to Theon, it might have started to show when Robb’s around him, because he honestly can’t care less about how he looks and it’s enough that he’s _here_ in the first place. And he’s always liked Theon for reasons that weren’t his looks.

But he also never even imagined he’d _act_ on it – not with what he knows about what happened with Theon when he was captured and really, he’d never. Unless he was sure it was reciprocated, but he knows it’s really not the case right now.

“I am,” Robb replies, slowly. He wonders how much he should say. Then he decided that Theon’s at least owed the truth. He’s not going to lead him on or anything. If only he knew how to put it. “And – I mean, gods, this is embarrassing, but – well, it happens. I mean, you know it does. And – I mean, with Jeyne it’s – things are good, but if it wasn’t clear already it’s kind of the same with us, or whatever, and it happens because I would have you if the circumstances allowed it, but I doubt it’s the case so – you can ignore it.” Shit. That – that really wasn’t helpful, was it? He’s about to shake his head and try to say it again but then…

Theon breathes in and looks straight at him. 

“What if you didn’t have to?” He asks, and Robb can see him flinch ever so slightly.

“Sorry?”

Theon swallows again. And again. “Let’s – let’s say that it happens to me, too. Lately, I mean. Mostly – mostly if I think about you.”

On one side Robb wants to press for details given what Theon’s just told him, but he has an idea breaking the silence is a bad idea. “And –” Theon goes on. “Do you – do you remember what we did your fifteenth birthday?”

“I do,” Robb replies, even slower.

A moment later, Theon reaches out, grabs Robb’s hand and pretty much slams it over his groin, where –

Well, damn it, he _is_ hard, too, nothing to object to that. Not overtly so, but enough that Robb can feel it.

“If – if that’s what you want, then – then we could. I mean. Do it again. It’s be the least you’d deserve anyway,” Theon says under his breath, and –

_Wait a moment._

_The least Robb would deserve?_

He takes a better assessment of the situation. Theon might _feel_ willing, but he’s tense as a wire, he’s not really looking at him and Robb can see his left hand shaking wildly.

“And is it what _you_ want?” Robb replies, fearing the answer. Theon goes still for a moment, breathes in and out, then closes his eyes and -

“I want what you want,” he replies, very quietly, and –

Oh, hells, _no_.

Robb doesn’t know if he should feel horrified or not but if there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that Theon’s absolutely not doing this for _his_ own sake but for Robb’s and –

Fuck. Fuck. Now he has to thread lightly around here, because while he’s not doing this at all if he’s not sure Theon really wants it, he also doesn’t want to give Theon the idea that he’s – not a good prospect, when it comes to sex.

“No,” he finally says, and Theon _then_ looks at him, and he seems surprised. More than that, shocked.

“… No? But you are –”

“Theon, just – listen to me a moment.” He moves his hands to Theon’s shoulders. “With the premise that I would have you whichever way you look, and that I’m glad to see that in some way you feel the same way or you wouldn’t feel… well, interested, I guess, right now, nothing is going to happen until _you_ want it, and it seems to me that right now you really don’t.”

At that, Theon’s face turns… panicked?

“I do!” He protests.

“Yes, and you can barely look me in the face when you have to say something that’s not a single word answer, if you can. You’re so tense I can feel it without even touching you and this isn’t how you ever tried to, uh, seduce me back in the day. It’s not important that you think I – deserve it or that since you feel guilty for what happened with me then I have the right to bed you whenever I like.”

“Robb –”

“Theon. We’re _not_ doing anything.”

“But if you want to –”

“It’s not really the matter when _you_ don’t. And don’t say that your side in this matters less than mine because you know I don’t agree.”

“But –” he starts, “but what I do isn’t even the point. You don’t need me to –”

“Theon? I do.”

“What?”

“You’re not taking off any clothes in front of me until you want to. And I know you don’t. It’s obvious. And it’s _fine_.”

“How is it fine?” Theon replies with barely any voice; Robb can barely hear him.

“Because I’m fine with your presence the way it is and I’m not… bedding you if you don’t want it in _that_ sense.”

Theon sends him a look that screams _I don’t get you_ and Robb thinks he wants to cry.

“But you want it.”

“ _You_ don’t.”

“It’s not – I do!”

And the thing is that he also sounds convinced of it, which is giving Robb every other bad vibe in existence.

“Really?” He asks, trying to not sound sad, because that’s how this entire ordeal is about to make him feel. “So what happens if I do this?” 

He feels bad about it, but – he has to prove a point. He moves one of his hands at Theon’s hips, below his belt but nowhere near his groin, figuring that Theon wouldn’t have expected it.

And he hadn’t, and he flinches back quick enough that Robb gasps at it.

“Damn it,” Theon swears a moment later.

“I don’t really think you’re _this_ willing,” Robb keeps on. “And it’s fine. You don’t really have to, I –”

“You don’t get it,” Theon says, his voice strained. “I do. Because that – that only happens if I think about _you_ ,” he blurts out.

“Right,” Robb replies, slowly. “How?”

“I – I’m not sleeping that badly lately,” he admits. “Most times it’s, I have dreams where we’re _together_ , and then I wake up and that happens, and it wouldn’t happen if I _didn’t_ , would it?”

Given how open Theon used to be about this kind of thing back in the day, Robb would like to have a clue of _why_ he’s dancing around the subject like this. He’s not sure he wants to know but he’d feel like a proper arse changing the subject _now_ , never mind that he has a clue that this is something Bolton-related. He really hopes it’s not, but he doesn’t know how he could not be.

“That – that sounds normal,” he says, and thinks, _gods, we had this exact same conversation once and you were in my position, what the fuck happened to us?_ And then – then he feels dread creeping up his spine. “But – oh fuck, did you do anything about it?”

“What?”

“Theon, _you_ gave me this speech the first time I asked you about it when it happened to _me_. I don’t know if you remember the advice, but I do. It was, if I don’t recall wrong, _use your fucking hand_.”

Shit. He was right. Theon almost blanches the moment Robb says it.

But at this point he has to finish this.

“So. Did you do anything about it?”

Theon just stares at him, then –

“No.”

“… How long has it been going on?”

“… A couple of weeks? Three?”

 _Shit_. Robb had thought something weird was going on with Theon, but he hadn’t realized that -

“You mean that it’s been that long and you haven’t – shit, I – why?” That probably wasn’t the right question to ask.

Theon just looks at him, and – “I can’t.”

“You – _can’t_? Is something wrong –”

“No!” Now he sounds half in a panic again and Robb can smell wine on his breath and realizes that he actually _took care to drink steadily throughout the whole dinner_ in order to have this conversation.

Or in order to make a move on him, which – is even worse, probably.

“I mean, it’s not that – I actually asked Vyman,” Theon says, still not quite looking at him, and now it sounds like either he’s going to break down crying or he’s going to start laughing hysterically. “There’s _nothing_ wrong. In theory. But I can’t.”

“… Can I ask why?” Robb asks, even if he’s dreading the answer. But at this point he has to know.

“Haven’t you seen in the bathhouse?” Theon asks instead.

Robb remembers what he had glimpsed and nods, hoping against hope that Theon is _not_ going to say what he suspects he will –

“Well, just after _that_ happened… _he_ might have told me that if he found out _anyone other than him_ was putting their hands over _there_ it’d be the next thing he’d cut off, why do you think _I just fucking can’t_? But it doesn’t mean someone else –”

“Stop,” Robb says, and he knows he’s not going back to his own room after this. He also knows can’t have this conversation staring at the wall so he brings his hands up to Theon’s shoulders again and tries to not give in to the instinct to throw up. “You’re – _somewhat_ drunk. You don’t want this. Thinking that _I_ do isn’t – I don’t want it if you don’t want it completely, and sorry but telling me I should do whatever I want while you lie back and get through it – because I have a feeling that’s what you’re expecting – is not going to work.”

“I don’t – but if _you_ –”

“Theon? I’ll be glad to _when you want it_. But if just me touching you below the waist when you weren’t expecting it sets you off like that, I doubt anything more would fare any better. Never mind that if you needed a few drinks to ask me, then –” He shakes his head and forces himself to smile even if he’s not feeling it. “And don’t say you owe me. Never mind that as far as I’m concerned we’re even, that’s not how I’d want to be paid back.”

“I’m sorry,” Theon sighs a moment later, his voice dropping so low he can barely hear him.

“No need to be. You – it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong,” Robb says, figuring that he really should _not_ make the man feel guilty. “And if you scoot over I’m spending the night. I’m not leaving this unfinished.”

“ _What_?”

“If you’d rather be alone –”

“No, uh, but if –”

“Jeyne had nothing to object and I’m _not_ leaving until after we’ve discussed this properly. Meaning, when you’re sober.” Robb kicks off his shoes and takes off his cloak before stripping down to just his shirt and smallclothes – Theon just stares at him before Robb gets under the covers, and then he gets rid hastily of most of his clothing except for the fake toes – _those_ he takes off with care and places on the nightstand before cautiously moving under the covers. He swallows, obviously not sure of what to do, and Robb just wants to cry – gods, three years ago he was the one feeling out of place in Theon’s bed, for –

He breathes in. “And you don’t have to stay on the opposite side of the bed if you don’t want to.”

“But -“

“Theon, we’ve done this for months without needing to fuck, I think it doesn’t have to change if neither of us wants it to.”

At least that gets Theon to laugh, _somewhat_ and for a moment, but still. He moves closer and Robb cautiously puts an arm around his waist – shit, he’s really too thin – and he can’t help thinking that if he could re-do things, he would kill Bolton a lot slower. For now he settles on keeping his arm over the fucking waist, and when Theon’s head falls on his shoulder he decides that at least something didn’t go wrong since they entered this room. But gods, if _that_ is what Theon’s thinking when it comes to fucking then –

He thinks he still wants to throw up.

“If – if you’re thinking –” He starts, knowing he has to actually put it out in the open, but not quite aware of how to say it. “I just – don’t feel sorry, all right?”

“But –”

“It’s not – it’s not your fault and it’s not even mine and we need to talk about this later, but don’t go to sleep thinking that you’ve got it wrong because that’s not the point.”

“I guess I can try,” Theon replies, moving slightly closer. He relaxes a bit, and his breathing evens out not long later. Robb doesn’t know if he can sleep, but he has to try or tomorrow _he_ will be the useless one out of the two of them.

He keeps the instinct to throw up at bay and closes his eyes.

\--

He shouldn’t be surprised when the next morning they both wake up – not raging hard but definitely so, and they sort of break apart in a moment the moment they realize, and Theon sends him a completely panicked look that Robb doesn’t know what to do with – his hands are flailing and he’s obviously _not_ fine with this predicament. Robb – god, Robb would stand up, go to the privy and deal with it, but right now it’s just really not the case. He can’t certainly deny it, but if Theon makes a move on him again –

“What I said yesterday is still valid,” Robb says cautiously.

“But –” Theon starts, “but if – if anyone should, it’s you, I –”

“Theon? No. It’s – shit, it’s your decision, you shouldn’t tell me to –” Robb starts, and Theon sends him another panicked look, and gods but it’s not changing the situation but then again – hells, Robb’s _ten and seven_ , Theon’s _one and twenty_ , of course it’s not going away. Sometimes he wonders if they’re this young just physically, and then he decides it’s not a good idea to linger on that line of thought.

Now –

Now he needs for this situation to not unravel completely the wrong way. Thing is, Theon doesn’t look like he wants a speech, and Robb doesn’t want to give him one, never mind that he’s way too distracted, and he has a feeling that after yesterday trying to talk about it in blunt terms might not help out at all. Never mind that whatever Theon thinks, Robb could never presume to bed someone who apparently can’t even touch _themselves_ because of fucking Ramsay Bolton, but –

But.

He doesn’t know if it’s just come to him because of sleep deprivation in the previous days or because he’s not thinking clearly, but then again Theon was never that big on talking things out even _before_. He was good at _doing_ things, back then.

Maybe, though –

He doesn’t know if he’s just had the worst idea of his life or if he thought of the one thing that might actually break the impasse here, but trying can’t hurt much worse.

“And what if I told you that if you really want my opinion when it comes to fucking, you should try and deal with it _yourself_?”

Theon sends him another look which screams _what in the seven hells are you even suggesting_.

“What?”

Robb breathes in. “Bolton’s dead. There’s nothing stopping you. And there’s really nothing wrong with you. If you’re that bent on doing what _I_ want, then try that. If it doesn’t work out then I’m not asking anymore.”

“You want me to jerk off?”

“You want me to do that _with_ you? Wouldn’t be the first time it happens,” Robb replies, and it wouldn’t – it happened more than a few times back in the day. When they could afford to actually spend time worrying about this.

“But _you_ shouldn’t –”

“I think I’m perfectly capable. I had a good teacher. And I can’t exactly go around like this. But just if you do it with me.”

“Gods,” Theon blurts, “you’re _serious_.”

“When am I not, if it concerns you?” Robb asks, as softly as he can manage and hoping it doesn’t sound like he wants to bicker or something. Because he _doesn’t_. All the contrary. He also doesn’t want Theon to take it as if he’s ordering him to or something, but – then Theon swallows and moves slightly closer, his breathing going slightly faster.

“You think we should – gods, it’s not –”

“Dignified? Speak for yourself. It wasn’t that long ago, for me. If it doesn’t work out then it doesn’t but – it’s not right.” _It was one of the things you never felt ashamed or lied about and I can’t watch you treating it as if it was a disease_ , Robb doesn’t say.

For a moment, he thinks Theon’s going to say no.

But then his eyes turn determined for a moment, and -

“Fine. _Fine_ ,” he says, more to himself than Robb. “You have a fucking point. Fuck, I’m –”

“As you told me once, it’s _really not a chore_ ,” Robb tries to joke, and decides that he should do this before he actually loses any force of will. He breathes in and sticks his hand under his smallclothes as quickly as he can and without many preliminaries – it’s not the point. He palms his cock but doesn’t do anything until Theon’s good hand, after inching closer to his waistline little by little, doesn’t follow his example. Gods, he thinks, if the two of them are still hard even given these circumstances then it means Theon did have a point when he said that they actually do want it.

To some degree, at least.

He doesn’t do anything until he sees that Theon’s fingers are actually touching his dick, even if he has a grimace on his face - Robb is almost tempted to reach forward and do it for him but _no_.

That wasn’t the fucking point now, was it?

“How – how is that?”

Theon snorts. “It was less awkward when I was two and ten,” he blurts out, and it sound slightly hysterical, not that Robb isn’t feeling the exact same.

“Well, neither of us has died yet, have we?”

When Theon doesn’t tell him to just shut up already Robb figures he hasn’t misstepped here. All right. All right, they can do this. Gods, he’d have never imagined he’d ever end up thinking _this_ about a mutual jerk-off, but he hopes it’s as quick and painless as possible.

“Just – just go ahead,” Theon says, and Robb decides to let that slide. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt less into it while jerking off in his life, but he goes ahead nonetheless – he strokes once, twice, keeping it slow and easy and taking care that his shirt covers his hand as much as possible. He has a feeling Theon wouldn’t want to do it with him _seeing_ it and so he’s not going to flaunt it out. Hopefully.

He goes ahead, still slow, until he sees Theon tentatively follow his example and doing the same. The first time he almost blanches, the second he breathes in steadily, the third he grits his teeth a bit but other than that he doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up any moment.

Robb breathes in some more and picks up the pace, and then, since he feels like he should somehow make sure Theon’s handling it, he figures asking can’t hurt.

“How – how are you doing?”

“I – I didn’t – never mind. Could be worse.”

Robb never was one for _talking_ when fucking, but gods if right now he wishes he could afford to stay silent for the entire thing.

He picks up the pace. He needs to get off for his own peace of mind, same as he’s done more than a few times when he was sleeping in a war tent and needed a relief when waking up in the morning, and while he’d like to keep the pace with Theon, he also knows that he’s nowhere near in the conditions to do it. Theon is following his example though, even if he’s going slower and he’s obviously trying to get the feeling for it again while Robb’s never quite lost it. Robb breathes in and out and in and out and then he bites down on his bottom lip as he feels himself go tense – shit, he doesn’t think he’s ever come this fast since he was three and ten. Or with equally low satisfaction - when it happens he feels physically relieved, but that’s about it.

Theon isn’t done though, and he’s looking at him with the face of someone who’s halfway through but can’t quite finish it, and –

Fuck it. Well, _some_ of it. Robb moves a bit closer, puts his dirty hand on the side, moves his clean one behind Theon’s head and pushes their foreheads together without any other part touching.

“You’re already at a less embarrassing point,” he blurts out.

“ _How_ ,” Theon croaks.

“You’d have teased the shit out of me for coming that shortly when we – back in the day. You’re already more dignified. Come on, you can do it.”

“Shit, _shit_ –”

“How does it feel?” Robb asks.

“I – not _bad_ , though – damn it, I _can’t_ -“

“Stop thinking about it.”

“I can’t not think about it,” Theon says, and there’s frustration coming from every word as he twists his wrist in a way that Robb doesn’t really like, and –

“ _Don’t_ ,” Robb says, and then leans down and kisses him if only to give him a distraction, and for a moment Theon freezes but then he kisses back, almost relieved, and Robb feels him go rigid at once not long later, and then he moves back as he breathes out in pure and utter relief. He almost goes boneless on the bed and Robb puts a hand on his shoulder just to get some actual contact. He dares looking down. He can’t see anything beyond a slightly damp patch on the dark clothing Theon’s still wearing but it definitely looks like at least he’s gone through with it.

“Fuck,” Theon blurts out a moment later. “Fuck, fuck, did that –”

“Yes, you successfully jerked off, same as I did, and I have a feeling there’s a lot of room for improvement here.”

“… Hadn’t _I_ told you that same thing a while ago?”

“Told you that you were a memorable teacher.”

“Oh, _fuck you_ –” Theon starts, his cheeks flushing, and then he suddenly freezes as if he’s just realized what he implied. “Shit, I –”

“Theon, hells, I could cry,” Robb replies at once. “Really, insult me however much you feel like, hearing _that_ was more relieving than jerking off.”

Theon snorts and Robb can see that he looks half about to cry.

“Hey,” he tries, “I mean it. You can tell me to fuck off whenever. Well, in private. I wish more people did, these days.”

“Gods, just hope I remember it,” Theon says, and he’s breathing so heavily you’d think he ran all the way from Winterfell.

“No, but –” Robb breathes in, out, and then decides that either they tackle this conversation now or never and he _really_ needs to address it. “Listen, we need to talk.”

“Do we _have_ to?” Theon asks with the tone of someone who knows that there’s no way he can escape this conversation.

“Theon, I think we do,” Robb sighs, not moving much but enough that they can look at each other in the eye properly. “First, _how are you_?”

“Actually, better than I thought. I mean – no, you probably don’t even want to hear it and I don’t want to say it, but let’s say I’m feeling relieved for _other reasons_ that aren’t having just fucking jerked off.”

“Okay. Great. Now, can we talk about how you thought getting drunk in order to convince me to – to _fuck_ when you most definitely didn’t want it was a good idea?”

Theon’s cheeks go slightly redder. “It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing.”

“It _wasn’t_.”

“I had been planning it for – well. Since I realized I _could_ still - shit, do I have to say it?”

“No,” Robb replies slowly, “I think I understood that.” He feels sick, though. “Can we – you _know_ I didn’t turn you down because I wouldn’t want you as you look right now, do you?”

“Sort of,” Theon sighs. “I mean. It’s – I _know_ that, the problem is that I’m not sure I entirely believe it.”

Well, at least he’s talking about it.

Hells, Robb thinks he might go for a few drinks himself later.

“When was the last time I lied to you, not counting the time I didn’t apologize for treating you like shit after you saved Bran’s life?” Robb asks instead.

Theon looks back up at him and shakes his head. “Probably years ago for something menial,” he concludes.

“Right. I’m not – I’m not lying to you to spare your feelings or _something_. If you were thinking straight and if you _really_ wanted it I’d have said yes,” he says, and he hopes to the gods he was convincing enough, but he’s not lying and it should be obvious. “But I don’t think you really did want it.”

Theon shrugs. “In my head it made perfect sense,” he admits, but he’s shaking his head as he says it. “Then again I threw up even _thinking_ about doing what I just did and I’m not throwing up now, so what do I even know?”

Gods, Robb really hopes that the message that came through wasn’t _I understand what’s going on with you better than you do_. Sure as fuck Robb doesn’t.

“I think,” Robb says a moment later, both his hands finding Theon’s clean one, “that you might need to think about – this entire thing further and maybe _ask others_ for an opinion if you can manage, but – the one thing you only can know is when you really want it.”

“I _do_ ,” Theon protests. “I mean, I wouldn’t spend my time dreaming about it or enjoying the bloody idea if I didn’t want y – it.”

“You can say that, you know,” Robb sighs. “And I didn’t say you – listen, I don’t know how to even put it into words but I guess some part of you might want it and some might not. I meant it when I said I’d have said yes if I was sure of where we were both standing, but I don’t want it if _you_ don’t. It can be the other way around too, you know.”

“You mean –”

“I mean that when you’ve straightened things out I’ll be here. And when I say _straighten things out_ I mean that I want you to ask me presuming that it goes both ways, not that I get to fuck you and that’s it.”

Theon just stares at him for a long, long moment. “That might take some time,” he says cautiously.

“Unless one of us dies at some point between now and _some time_ , I’m not in a hurry. If I get hard because we slept together it doesn’t mean we have to fuck. But my problem isn’t with _you_.”

“All right,” Theon concedes a moment later. “Fine. I can’t swear I’m going to get over it anytime soon, but –”

“As long as you talk to me before assuming you owe me a fuck or two you can take as long as you like.”

“That – sounds not so bad,” Theon replies quietly, his three remaining fingers tangling with Robb’s. “Shit,” he says a moment later, “and me thinking it would be a good idea to spring it on you on your _nameday_. I just might have ruined it, didn’t I?”

“No,” Robb says at once, moving a hand at the back of Theon’s head. Shit, not _that_. “Actually, I’m flattered that you even went as far as trying that when you obviously didn’t want it just because you thought it’d make me happy, the intent was there. And - honestly, it definitely could have been worse as far as namedays go.”

“Don’t lie just to make me feel better.”

“I’m _not_. Listen, I said I was going to put all that happened behind me. Or us. I’m trying. And you know what, the moment you do it then it’s just – a lot easier to just go ahead with it. You should try it.”

“That might take some time, too.”

“I’m not in a hurry about that, either. Anyway, you didn’t, uh, ruin anything if you were worried about it. And I’m still not lying. And if I’m not judging wrong, we can still get breakfast downstairs if we get up now.”

“I could do worse,” Theon agrees, and Robb just – he moves closer and kisses him again just to prove the damned point, and maybe he could have done it some more and they might have missed breakfast –

And then someone knocks on the door. Quite forcefully.

 _Shit_.

“Your Grace?”

 _Bless the gods_ , it’s Sandor Clegane. Given that there’s maybe four people in this castle who wouldn’t feel outraged at seeing Robb in the conditions he’s in and that he’s one of them, they might have lucked out.

“Uh, I’m here,” Robb blurts out. “Wait a moment!”

He ties back his breeches hastily, tries to smooth his shirt and look somehow respectable.

He opens the door and thankfully Clegane merely raises an eyebrow as he takes in the way Robb looks.

“Is – am I needed anywhere?”

“I think so. Let’s say that some kid from the village said he met some _woman_ knight in the woods and she told him to bring you this.”

He hands Robb a sealed message. “I figured you wouldn’t want anyone else to read it before, but still, I figured I’d rather deliver it myself in case there was a ploy behind it.”

“Thank you,” Robb replies, and then he realizes what Clegane’s just said.

 _Woman_ knight?

He only knows of one –

 _Oh fuck_ , it has to be Brienne.

He tears the message’s sigil open, it wasn’t even that well sealed, and unfolds the paper with shaking hands.

And –

_We have your sister. She was in the Vale. I would have come to Riverrun at once but Ser Jaime insists that he doesn’t want to be killed on sight. If you ask the messenger, he’ll bring you where we are._

And – yes. It has Brienne’s signature.

“When did this arrive?” He asks, his voice shaking.

“Not an hour ago. The kid is still in the yard.”

Robb swallows. “Clegane, I need you to tell my sister to get dressed and find us both a couple of horses. And you’re coming with us. Give that kid some food or whatever he wants and tell him to wait for us.”

“Wait, what’s going on?”

Robb hadn’t thought that the man would not be loyal when it came to his sister, but he might as well test his instincts.

“My mother’s _knight_ –” He starts, and then decides to not add that Jaime Lannister also was part of the ploy. He doesn’t know how Clegane feels about his former employers, but better not test _that_ for now. “My mother’s knight says she’s found Sansa,” he finishes. “And I think I want to go and make sure that she did _now_ ,” he says.

He looks up at Clegane’s face, he sees his expression falter for a moment into something that can only be described as _hope_ and he knows his instincts were right.

And he knows he needs to get presentable and ready to go as soon as possible. Clegane gives him a terse nod and says he’ll go now, and Robb –

Robb stares at the piece of paper, feeling like his heart might burst for joy, and decides that _maybe_ if these are the odds, this has certainly been the best nameday anyone could have ever hoped for.

“Robb, what the hell –” Theon starts, having stood up and moved close to him, and -

Robb shoves the letter in his hand and waits until Theon actually reads it before letting a few tears slip his eyes, but what else can he do?

“Oh,” Theon says, “so – so they found her?”

“Looks like it. If you want to come with –”

“I don’t think it’d be the _best_ idea,” he replies, and then he swallows and looks back up at Robb and - “but when you come back I’d be glad to wait for you outside this damned room if that pleases you.”

And – yes. That’s definitely more than enough. Robb tells him so before kissing him quickly again and running towards his quarters. He definitely cannot leave in the state he’s in. Good thing Jeyne is sleeping so he doesn’t have to answer any question.

When Robb has cleaned up and put on clean clothes and leaves the room heading downstairs, he’s grinning so hard he can’t stop himself from doing it.

But if things are looking up for now… well, he’s going to enjoy the feeling as long as it lasts, and if a small part of him is warning that it might be a trap, for this time he chooses to not listen to it at all.

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (as stated before, the next part is already written but it needs editing and I have a bunch of holiday fics to go through so it's gonna be up asap. Apologies for the cliffhanger /o\\)


End file.
